


Say It Ain't So

by unreso1vedkarma



Category: The Simpsons
Genre: Child Abuse, F/M, M/M, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, tw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:02:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28665927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unreso1vedkarma/pseuds/unreso1vedkarma
Summary: Now 17-years-old, Bart comes to terms with his unhealthy relationship with his father, his repressed sexuality, and tries to become a better man for the people in his life who he truly cares about. But not without his fair share of both trying times and encouragement from his mother, sisters, and best friends.
Relationships: Bart Simpson/Milhouse Van Houten, Nelson Muntz/Lisa Simpson
Comments: 26
Kudos: 38





	1. Act Like Everything's Normal

**Author's Note:**

> this has a very vague summary, but honestly i have no clue where i am going with this. i just wanted to write about bart :,)
> 
> also, as a warning, i do portray homer in an awful light. its just for the sake of the story. he is an alcoholic parent, theres a lot of hardships that go with that for the children and for realism in the story i'm gonna include them.

Homer Simpson was drunk, again. It was around 2 am when he drunkenly stumbled into his suburban home. Clearly he had been drinking for hours. He woke up the poor old family dog by tripping over it as it slept on the living room carpet, then the rest of his family awoke from the sound of the dog yelling in pain, as well as the loud *thud* from the large man’s body hitting the floor. 

“Ow…” Homer whined, then giggled. “My tooshie… hehe.” 

His family included his beautiful, hard-working housewife Marge, whom everyone, including himself, knew deserved a better husband than himself. There was also his brilliant and talented daughter Lisa. An activist, vegetarian, and natural-born leader, she was destined for Harvard or Yale or any place better than the suburban dump she resided in. There was also his youngest child, Maggie, a child prodigy in guitar and vocals despite her surprisingly charming silence and aloofness. She was a great kid with a unique spunk to her, charming everyone she meets. Lastly, there was his oldest child and only son, Bart, aka the human embodiment of 17 years worth of repressed emotions and untreated mental illness. Homer never liked Bart, he “never really got his whole *thing*”, so he has said. But some argue the two were similar in ways neither realized. 

_I guess Homer’s finally home._ Bart thought to himself as he rose out of his, groggily wiped his eyes, and left his room. _Time for me to go take care of this asshole, as if he’d do the same for me._ He knew he was the only one in his family with enough physical strength to drag his obese father’s body to the couch to sleep off the night. 

So Bart, tiptoeing down the stairs not to disturb his beloved family any more than his boarish father already has, went to go care for the person he despised most in this world. 

******************************************************************************

When Bart Simpson went back upstairs, he peered open his creaky, wooden bedroom door to find his mother, Marge, sitting on his bed, adorned in her fluffy pink robe, with matching pink curlers throughout her mass of blueberry-colored hair. To Bart, his mother looked like an angel, as the moon’s cool light backlit the woman, giving the appearance of a heavenly glow. She was the angel that he did everything for. She’s the only reason it was worth putting up with Homer. If not for his mother’s genuine love. Bart would have ran away from home years ago. But running away from your life means you leave the good things behind as well as the bad. The young man simply had a greater amount of love for his mother than he had hate for his dad. Plus there were some others in his life that he cared for. His sisters weren’t half bad, though he would never admit that to them. Plus his childhood best friend, Milhouse, meant more to him than he even knew at the time. 

“Mom. Sorry if I woke you up.” He said as he entered his room. He gently plopped down on his twin-size bed next to her. When he was closer, he noticed that her eyes were glassy as if she had just cried.

“My Bart… thank you so much for all that you do, sweetie. It’s tough dealing with your father, and I know especially lately it’s been a lot for you. He _has_ been drinking more since your Grandpa’s passing.”

“You’re right.”

“But I know you were close with Grandpa, too. So if you ever want to talk to someone about it, your dear old mommy is always available, you know.”

“Yeah I do know. But I’m fine. I’m not upset about Grandpa, he was an old geezer and bound to go sooner or later.” Bart continued with a scoff, “I’m just pissed about dealing with Homer.”

“I will admit his drinking has been tough on all of us, but on you especially. You’re a good kid, Bart.” And with that, she kissed her teenage son on the forehead, on his bumpy, teenage skin, not caring about how gross it was because she simply loved him that much. She said, “Goodnight, sweetie. I love you,” then crept out, so she could return to the barren king-sized bed that she hadn’t shared in months. 

“Goodnight, Mom!” Bart responded, only after she had already left the room, but he knew she had heard him, as their rooms were only a few feet away. 

************************************************************************

No one in the Simpson household slept well that night, for they were all interrupted by a certain buffoon’s great stumble, then too disturbed to go back to bed for quite some time. Unfortunately, it was a Wednesday, which meant that school and work was back in session for everyone, as they were bleekly reminded when their alarms rang as loudly as ever, each at different times of course. 

Lisa arose at 5:30 on the dot, every morning. The 15-year old needed time to dress, do her hair, and achieve her perfectly preppy look. Part of being the best was simply looking the best, and she reminded herself of this every morning to drag herself out of a fortress of blankets and pillows. It was especially hard for her lately. She knew everything that went on behind the scenes with her family, be it the issues in her parents relationship or the way her late grandfather’s death affected everyone in her family so deeply yet in such different ways. For Lisa, it was easy to channel her emotions into her work and her art. She threw herself into her academics and played her saxophone in the band room at Springfield High School for hours on end. She felt bad that it forced her brother, Bart, to often wait around school for her to be done, scavenging for people to hang with and mindless activities to do, as he waited to drive her back home. Though, she thought, it was better than leaving him at home, and to have to deal with the messes their father made. She especially felt bad for Maggie, who at 10 years old had no option but to lock herself in her room to avoid the drama. She learned young how to preserve herself. But Lisa was not an adult in the house, not literally anyway. She was certainly the smartest and most capable, but she knew she was not responsible to fix the issues that her dad continuously caused for her family. _If only Bart was smart enough to realize it, too_ , she thought. 

Maggie got up at 7am. The third-grader was smart and responsible, but not to the extreme of her older sister. She was well adjusted and quiet, yet well-liked at school. She realized early on in her life that the best way to fit in and be liked was to say close to nothing. When people don’t know much about you, they fill in the blanks themselves and see what they want to see. She presented the best parts of herself. She _was_ a quiet, polite, and cute prodigy, so her persona wasn’t exactly a lie. But with the attention that Lisa and Bart had gotten at Springfield Elementary, all she wanted was to fit in and fly by the radar. So she dressed casually, stuck to what she knew, and lived each day carefully. 

Marge, too, got up at 7. She needed time to gussy herself up, not too much though. The life of a lower-middle-class housewife was not glamorous, especially not the life of this specific one. Marge also needed to make breakfast for her three darling kids, who were blossoming into their own people right before her eyes, and to make something greasy to heal her husband’s hangovers. She cared deeply for Homer. Even though he was stupid, he was always sweet to her. He was simply too dumb to be evil, so she thought. Homer would never lay a hand on her or even tell her a lie. _But do I still love him the way I used to… and can I stand by while my kid’s grow weary over his behavior?_ These days their marriage was on the rocks, to put it politely. But Marge was convinced that she needed to uphold the image of the perfect suburban family. She didn’t know who this performance was staged for, nor why it mattered if this audience was pleased. Marge simply followed the duty that her mother before her followed, the one that was ingrained in her for her whole life. It was the stereotypical role of a wife and a mother that kept her from pursuing her career in journalism, from seeking higher education, and from doing most of what she dreamed of as a girl. So maybe she feared letting go of Homer because she feared a life without boundaries. Maybe she was unhappy living as she was, but she was safe and knew her purpose. 

Bart, on the other hand, set no alarm clock. He was a pretty light sleeper, and figured he would get up when he heard the others getting ready. On a day like today, though, he did not see a single lick of sleep. He laid awake, wrapped in his authentic, decade-old Krusty the Clown patterned sheets, staring at the ceiling with his earbuds in. He listened to some rap, a few guilty-pleasure pop songs, but mostly 90s rock resonated with him. He decided it was because it was depressing but not pretentious. This was also how he saw himself. There were deep levels to Bart that he didn’t show to anyone, out of fear of labeling, social rejection, and just of his persona being labelled “pretentious”. Bart was an artist, and a damn good one. His main medium was graffiti, but he had filled a few sketchbooks with sketches that both looked cool and had a deeper meaning, usually. But sometimes he wanted to draw a sick dragon just because. Bart was also a musician, emphasis on the “was”. As a young boy he took drum lessons, and almost exceeded his sisters’ musical talent too. But Homer made him quit, claiming it was too distracting and that he couldn’t sleep or couldn’t hear the tv. One day in a drunken rampage Bart’s dad had broken his drum set, which the teen recalls internally as one of the most traumatic events in his life. It was the day his relationship with his father was forever tainted. And as his alcoholism got worse, so did Homer’s relationship with his entire family. Bart, being the oldest child and the only boy, had a unique experience that the rest of his family simply didn’t understand, or at least he assumed so. Bart repressed everything he felt and most of the things that he enjoyed, living his life on auto-pilot and never caring much for himself. 

Homer was still asleep on the sofa when the whole family was ready for school. All three Simpson children were seated at the round dinner table in their eat-in kitchen. 

“‘Sup, Lees?” asked Bart, breaking the awkward silence while not looking up from his waffles. 

“Good, I suppose. Today is the day I make my speech for student body class president. I assume you won’t skip it and you’ll actually be there to support me?” 

“No can do. I’m totes gonna be hiding in the bathroom with your _boyfriend_ through the whole assembly, sis.”

“Oh my god, Bart! Nelson is NOT my boyfriend! I am literally his tutor, and he never even shows up!”

“Yeah but you like him though!” Bart teased his little sister. 

“Bart! Be nice,” interjected Marge, though secretly their bickering almost made things seem normal again, which she was thankful for. “And I thought Milhouse was your boyfriend, Lisa? What happened to that?”

“Milhouse was NEVER my boyfriend. He was just like, obsessed with me. _I_ , for one, certainly don’t like him.” Lisa spurred out, giving her brother a passing glance during her last sentence. Bart consciously ignored whatever-the-hell that was. He did not want to know what Lisa was thinking about. 

Marge sat down next to her youngest and asked Maggie, “What’s going on with you at school today, sweetie?”

Maggie swallowed the mouthful of waffle she was working on, opened her mouth to reply, and was cut off by the booming sound of footsteps coming from the living room.

“What the hell *hiccup* is going on here?” 

“Breakfast, Homer.” Answered his wife, monotonously. She was not in the mood to deal with this shit today. 

“Well someone should have woken me up. Boy, why didn’t you wake me up? This bacon’s gone cold!” 

_So you’re just gonna act like everything’s normal, like you do every morning. Huh, Homer?_ Bart didn’t have the balls to stand up to his father the way he wanted to. 

“Homie, sweetie, I’ll make some more for you.” Marge was an expert at deescalating her husband, using herself as a shield to protect her children from their father. 

“I gotta go. Can’t be late. C’mon Lees!” Bart shot up from his seat as soon as his father sat down, grabbed his ratty, gray backpack off the linoleum floor of the kitchen and made a run for his car with half a soggy waffle dripping from his mouth. 

“Guess that’s my cue. Bye everyone!” Lisa followed soon after. 

“Maggie we’ll leave for your school as soon as I’m done making some bacon for your daddy, okay?” 

Maggie grunted a neutral “mhm” in response. 

*************************************************************************

Meanwhile, Lisa caught up to Bart and entered the passenger seat, tossing her orange backpack, adorned in pins and patches that displayed her interests and passions, in the backseat of Bart’s sticky dump of a first car. 

“Make sure there’s room back there. We’re picking up Milhouse again, ‘cos his parents are still in, like, Malaysia or Malibu or something.” 

“Those are _vastly_ different vacation destinations, Bart.”

“Yeah. Well, whatever.”

Lisa, feeling the tension between them, opened the floor for some more serious discussion. “I heard you and mom talking last night.”

“...Okay. And?”

“And I know that you’re pretending to be tough but that there’s a lot you’re hiding from everyone. I mean, we did just lose Grandpa, and you guys were really close. But I think that stuff with Dad is what’s really bothering you.” 

Bart groaned, implying his disinterest in talking about this, _again_. 

“What?” Lisa retorted.

“Fuck Homer, that’s what. I don’t wanna talk about him. It’s bad enough I have to see him every day, I don’t want to think about him when he’s not around.” And that was the truth. Part of it, anyway. “Plus we’re outside Milhouse’s now. Let’s not talk about this with him here.” 

“Oh I get it,” Lisa teased. “You’re embarrassed about _your_ boyfriend now! I would be too if it was _Milhouse_!”

“You talk a big game for someone who’s literally going head to head with him later with your nerd speeches,” Bart answered. “Also I’m not gay, Lisa. Shut the fuck up.” Bart wasn’t really mad at Lisa. He playfully punched her on the arm and she chuckled. 

Bart parked his car in front of the Van Houten’s, and pulled out his cracked, caseless smartphone, a few generations behind, to send a text alerting his childhood best friend that he was right outside. 

“You know, Bart. Some people say the cellphone is the window to the soul nowadays.”

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?”

Within minutes, the nerdy 17-year-old was walking down the pathway to reach Bart’s car. He wore his tiny red spectacles, never opting for a more flattering pair throughout all of his new prescriptions. Milhouse did change in some ways, though. Once a chubby kid, Milhouse lost his baby fat and got into sports. Of course he was bullied by the jocks and never left the bench, but it gave him an opportunity to work out, which became his main pastime as he outgrew cartoons and playing pretend. Bart took note of this. Obviously he would see changes in the guy he talked to nearly every day for the past ten years. Bart never lost _his_ baby fat. 

_Stupid Milhouse_ , he thought as he watched Milhouse stride out to the car, perhaps too closely. 

On the contrary to his buddy, Bart gained a bit of weight. He was a chubby guy, not unhealthily so, but most of his weight was stored in his little beer belly, which he hated because it resembled his father’s. Unfortunately, his poor diet, lack of exercise besides the occasional skateboarding, and likely excessive underage drinking were the cause of his belly growth, and he liked junk food and drinking too much to give it up all because he was secretly jealous of Milhouse. Plus, Milhouse may have had a good body now, but Bart still had the cuter face, which is what he told himself to get by. Beauty is subjective, really. 

_Oh god. Is Milhouse… attractive?_ Bart hated his mind sometimes. 

“Well, hi Bart! And um… hey Lisa!” Milhouse’s goofy voice brought Bart back to reality. He was loud, unexpectedly and awkwardly so. It was like a little kid possessed a wrestler’s body and tried doing a Mickey Mouse impression? Honestly, Bart spent years trying to figure it out. 

_Milhouse is_ not _attractive! At least not once he opens his mouth. Thank god._

How embarrassing would it be to fall for your best friend, especially when he was once the loser you used to look out for because you felt bad for him? Bart didn’t need to worry about that though. Like he said, he wasn’t gay. 

“Hey, Dweeb. Get in the backseat.” 


	2. Earth to Bart Simpson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bart's eventful school day leaves him surprisingly optimistic for his future.

“All Seniors, please QUIETLY report to the auditorium for our Student Body President Debate. This is a mandatory event. I repeat. This is mandatory!” 

_ Why do they always put that loudspeaker up so loud? I was finally falling asleep!  _ Bart said to himself with his head wrapped in his arms, using his history textbook as a pillow.

“Hey man, you ready to ditch this thing?” Bart looked up and saw Nelson Muntz, his on-and-off friend since elementary school. Nelson was a year or two older, Bart wasn't sure. He just knew he had been held back before, and that the guy was way bigger than any other 17-year-old he knew. 

_ Well besides Milhouse… Oh my God shut up about Milhouse!  _

“... Earth to Bart Smith… Hello?”

“Dude. My name’s Simpson!” Bart used his textbook-pillow as a weapon too, apparently. He smacked Nelson right over the head with it. 

“Ow!” He rubbed his head, then continued. “I’ve got some beers in my locker. We gotta go now while there’s a crowd in the hallway so no one catches us! You coming or not?”   


Bart genuinely had to think this through. Crack open a cold one with the biggest asshole he knew, or sit through two hours of monotonous torture just for the slim chance that either Lisa or Milhouse, his two favorite people in this joint, would notice him in the crowd and feel a sense of pride for just one moment? It was a tough call for the misguided teen. 

“You go first, I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”   
“Why? Your girlfriend got a speech or something?” 

“Ew. I don’t have a girlfriend. It’s Milhouse, and my sister.” 

“Lisa?”

“Yeah man.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize it was her. I really did think you guys were named ‘Smith’,” he admitted, sheepishly. 

“Whatever, Nelson. Just sneak off without me. And stay away from my sister! She’s way too young for you, man!”

*************************************************************************

The “debate” (which consisted of several students’s speeches, spoken linearly, with no real arguments or reasons to call it a debate), wasn’t too bad, actually. Bart snuck in his earbuds to bump his tunes and blocked out the first few speakers, though. Luckily for him, Milhouse and Lisa were up back-to-back, so he could make a quick exit after hearing their speeches. First was poor, anxiety-ridden Milhouse.

Milhouse thought to himself,  _ Gee… there’s a lot of people down here. And being at this podium is kind of scary… _

“Mr. Van Houten, please begin your speech.” 

The blue-haired boy gulped, and his clammy fingers stuck to each note card as he shuffled through them atop the cherry-wood podium. He cleared his throat a final time as he looked beyond the auditorium stage. He could feel the nervous sweat seeping through his striped polo shirt, growing even more anxious thinking about how he was going to get the stains out. Quickly he gazed through his glasses and scanned the crowd, filing through hundreds of his peers to look for the only one whose approval he truly needed. Milhouse knew he was a loser and that he wasn’t well-liked. But the one constant in his life has always been that he had Bart Simpson by his side. Knowing one person cared about him was enough to get him through even the most anxiety-ridden moments. 

Surely enough, he spotted Bart’s bright-yellow spikes of hair in the very last row. Disinterested as the other boy looked, Milhouse knew his aloof nature was a mask. He sighed with relief and began to stumble through his mediocre speech.

*********************

“And, uh. That’s why I, Milhouse Van Houten, should be your student body president!” 

“ _ Boooooo! You sucked! _

_ “Get off the stage, Van Houten!” _

It was easy for Milhouse to deflect all the hate being spewed at him, mostly because he agreed with it. He  _ did  _ suck. But the slow and gentle clap from Bart, which he made sure to take note of, meant a lot to him. He smiled to himself, knowing approval from his best friend was more important than pleasing the masses of idiots in Springfield. Plus, on his way back to his seat, Lisa gently tugged on his sleeve and whispered “Good job!”, which was more validation that Milhouse was prepared to get from anyone that day. 

_ That was really fucking boring _ , Bart thought to himself.  _ Good God. Milhouse is so lucky I love him… like him, like, the way friends do. I don’t have to explain myself to MYSELF. _

Right after Milhouse, Lisa gave her speech, akin to that of a real president or other sophisticated diplomat. Her hair slicked back gave a perfect view of her matching pearl earrings. She had worn them since she was a little girl. A gift from her mother, they reminded her of the support she had at home, especially in times as bad as now. She wore a crisp, navy-blue blazer on top of a simple orange dress that reached her knees. She also wore a dainty gold necklace, with a round charm engraved with the female symbol ( [ ♀ ](https://fsymbols.com/signs/female/) ). The young woman dressed to impress, but did not just look the part. Her speech’s content and her delivery were simply the best. It was clear she truly cared about her fellow students, and that she had what it took to lead them. Even her older brother couldn’t help but to be enraptured by her patriotism and eloquence. He was proud, but a tad jealous, too.  _ I guess that’s why she’s Dad’s favorite.  _

When Lisa was done speaking and gave a curtsey to the audience, she basked in the supportive claps from the audience. None of them were really her friends, they didn’t know her beyond the persona she presented them. And she was fine with it, really. Like Milhouse, they only cared if those closest to them approved. So, when Lisa saw Bart sneaking out after his sparse applause, she couldn’t help but be pissed at his half-assed efforts to support her. She masked her anger and sat back down with the line of other candidates. 

It wasn’t Bart’s fault, though, that he couldn’t sit still long enough to get through the entire debate. His untreated ADHD always got the best of him, and Lisa tried not to be pissed. 

“Next candidate to the podium is Martin Price,” announced their principal after Lisa got her seat.

Lisa grinned to herself, knowing even someone as smart as the school’s resident nerd, Martin, did not have what it takes to run the school. She was the clear winner, and it was obvious. Still, her assured victory felt bittersweet when her own brother, whom she considered her best friend, wasn’t there to see her opponents’ defeat. 

******************************************************************

Glad to be out of that nerd fest, Bart scurried away and made his way to the boy’s restroom where he knew he would find Nelson, and probably some underclassmen who, for some reason, worshipped the overgrown school bully. 

“Nelson. I’m here.”

Bart was right. A couple new faces, probably the new freshmen, were seated on the windowsills, sharing a vape, taking turns huffing and exhaling into each other’s faces. 

_ Ew… _

“Oh hey, Bart. What took you so long?” Nelson looked up and tossed Bart a can of Duff brand beer, which Bart caught with the nonchalant skill of someone who’s caught quite a few beer cans in their day. 

Bart looked down and read the brand name off of the can.  _ Duff… Homer’s favorite.  _

“Decided to stick around and watch Lisa.”  _ I’ve also decided I really don’t want to turn into my father.  _ Bart placed his can on top of the windowsill, right next to one of those weird freshmen, whom he asked Nelson about. 

“Who are these weird dudes, anyway, man?”  
“Some freshmeat who wanna be me. It’s great. They’ve been following me around everywhere.”

“I guess you needed a new posse since Jimbo and the rest all graduated. And these fools are the only guys dumb enough to look up to  _ you _ !” Bart teased his friend. 

“Haw haw! Yeah, right.” Nelson honked out his signature obnoxious laugh.

They two boys had been on-and-off friends since elementary school. Nelson was the kind of troubled soul who truly had no one in the world looking out for him, so even though he and Bart often fought, the yellow-haired boy felt obligated to be his friend. Just like Bart, Nelson put on a tough exterior to hide his inner pain caused by his traumas and lack of parental love. Bart always thought Nelson had it worse though, since he struggled with poverty, too. To not even have a warm meal and fresh blankets to make you feel safe at the end of the day sounded like hell to him. Hence, Bart never spoke about his own troubles, since they felt inadequate in comparison. 

Nelson took a long chug of what seemed like his third or fourth drink. He sure moved quickly. 

“So my mom’s in jail again.”

“Oh.”

“I guess she was hooking again. ‘Cos topless waitresses don’t really get paid a lot.”

“Man, that sucks. I’m sorry.”

“It’s whatever, honestly. I’m gonna take Sherri and Terri out tonight to get my mind off it. We’re probably gonna blow through whatever petty cash I can find laying around in my dump of a house. You game?”

“I dunno…”

Bart was truly not interested in Sherri nor Terri. And blowing through all Nelson’s money would make him feel awfully guilty, too. Though whatever drugs and booze Nelson was planning to score sounded like a fun escape from Bart’s home life that, frankly, had gone to shit. When he wasn’t cleaning the messes his drunk father had made, they were arguing or strangling each other. Plus in the moments where there was peace, Bart was left alone with his thoughts, and left to think about his grandfather who had passed. The only real father figure he actually had. Now who could he turn to when he was feeling dejected and emasculated?

“C’mon, Bart! I’m always tryna set you up with chicks and you always blow them off. You’re lucky a lot of girls really dig your whole thing. Which is totally bullshit because you’re just a wannabe of me.” 

Bart was  _ genuinely  _ oblivious to the fact that a lot of girls liked him. He was a class clown for sure. Maybe not as much these days, but he was known for cracking jokes, pulling pranks, and making teachers and students laugh. He also had a bad boy vibe, unbeknownst to himself, from always hanging with guys like Nelson. His skills in art and music also made him seem more sensitive and approachable than most high school guys, who have to up the macho-factor, though Bart did a fair share of that himself. Finally, he was a pretty handsome kid despite being a bit pudgy and frankly unkempt. He surely wasn’t a dreamboat, but he had enough going for him to raise him higher on the food chain than most of the people in his social sphere.

As Bart put all these pieces together himself, he finally realized it must be true- chicks DO dig him. But did he dig the chicks? Not really, honestly. Bart didn’t hate women, some of his favorite people alive were women! His mom, for one. Plus he had two sisters he thought were rad. There were tons of famous women he admired. He loved all the female rock legends of the 60s and 70s. 

Bart had kissed girls before, at parties, during stupid games and on dares. He was’nt _ disgusted  _ by women, exactly. He just wasn’t obsessed with “getting some”, or whatever, like Nelson and the rest of them. 

“You’re getting too old to pull this ‘cooties’ shit, Bart! You’re coming with me.” 

“Honestly, dude, I ju-“

Bart’s response was cut off by the sound of the loudspeaker announcements. 

“It is now time to close our debate and enter our 8th period classes to end our day. I thank  _ most  _ of our students for having participated properly in today’s debate. In an unrelated note, will Bart Simpson please report to the principal’s office? Thank you.” 

The two freshmen started laughing, and Nelson had a big grin, too. 

“Haw haw! You’re totally in trouble, man! And you’re not even the one drinking on school property!”

“Shut up. They said it was unrelated… it’s probably just about all my tardies or something.”

As it turns out, it was absolutely a “related note” on which Bart was called down to the principals audience. 

“You know, Bart, I always thought you had potential deep down.” 

“And you thought wrong,” he retorted, like a smartass. “Just tell me what I did wrong quickly so we can both leave on time today, yeah?

“During today’s  _ mandatory _ school gathering you decidedly snuck off and were God-knows-where throughout many important speeches. Your peers have been working day and night on these! This isn’t the first time this year you’ve disappeared during an assembly, Mr. Simpson. And it’s the first month of your senior year! I hoped you’d have a change of heart this year,” the Principal, whose name Bart never dedicated to memory, exhaled disheartenedly. “Considering this is your last chance to straighten yourself out before college.”

Bart burst out into spontaneous laughter. “College?  _ Me _ ?”

“Despite your atrocious behavior, your grades  _ are _ passing up to this point, even if it’s just barely. You’re no Harvard-bound pupil, that’s for sure. But there’s plenty of state schools who would be thrilled to have another underachiever paying their tuition.”

Bart was taken back. He could actually have a future beyond this dump? He never even considered he might be college material. 

“Huh…”

“You’re not off the hook for that stunt today, though. Just… give me a minute to think of your punishment.” 

****************************************************************************

He walked out the door of the Principal’s office with a pep in his step just as the final bell rang. The hallways looked like sardine cans filled with hormones and questionable hairstyles as they quickly filled side-to-side with teenagers in a rush to head home. 

Bart was in no rush for detention. He strolled through the crowds, and didn’t make any big strides until the crowds began to dilute. As it thinned out, he caught a glimpse of shaggy blue hair atop a head turned the other way. 

“Ayo. Milhouse!” 

“Oh. Bart.” 

They walked toward each other, meeting in the middle of the hallway. They made eye contact. Bart made an acknowledging nod, as if to say “hey”. Milhouse broke the silence.

“So, uh, I heard you’re in trouble.”

“Yep. Detention for skipping out on that gay student council thing.”

“Hey! Student council is  _ not _ gay. There’s plenty of girls there!”

“And do any of them want you? No. It’s because they’re gay, too.”

“Baaart! _ ” _ Milhouse groaned out.

“I’m only kidding, man. C’mon.” Bart paused for a second, then continued. “Before I snuck out, I did actually catch your part. Good job, by the way. You got through that big ass speech and barely even stuttered. Better than I could’ve done.” He offered the other boy a sheepish smile and two brief pats on his back. His hand tingled when it touched Milhouse’s shoulder blade. 

_ Physical touch is so fuckin’ weird. I should have just high-fived him or something. _

Milhouse was taken back, but in the best way. He slowly smiled back, with his eyebrows softly raised. 

Since when did his friend ever cease to tease him, and simply pay him a nice compliment? And when, in the over a decade they’ve been friends, had a serious conversation? Only twice that he could recall, the first time being when they were 10 and the Van Houten parents announced their divorce. The second time being the first time the couple got back together. His entire teen life those two had been on-and-off, and as Bart got older and more shielded and sarcastic, he never really spoke about it. Plus, regardless of their relationship status, they were rarely home. He figured Bart wouldn’t understand having struggles with family or home life, with two awesome siblings and married parents who never left him. 

“Anyway, bro, I guess I should head to my detention. You good taking the bus home?”

“Oh. Yeah. See ya!”

Despite being granted a detention for the day, where he’d be stuck with his gym teacher and a few other ne’er-do-wells until 4pm in a random classroom, the teen felt uncharacteristically optimistic about his life. He couldn’t sit still, either, excitedly bopping his head, tapping on his desk, and bouncing his feet throughout the usually god-awful two hour punishment. Good prospects about his future, plus a sweet convo with his buddy left in a great state of mind. He didn’t know what he was coming home to tonight, but didn’t care. 

A few minutes in, a text from “LISA 💩” popped up on his phone, which he was sneakily taking a peek at under his desk.  “I’ll be practicing in the band room until 5 tonight. See you then?” 

Glancing up to make sure he wouldn’t get caught texting, he quickly responded with “yep”. 

He slipped the phone back into his pocket, not willing to take his chances at getting caught again. Instead of goofing off, he now laid his head back, stretched, and tried to relax, hoping to doze off to make the time go faster. Plus, he had never got that nap he so desperately needed during class today.

Just as his eyes began to close, he felt something sharp hit his head. 

“...Hey!”

“Silence, please!”

“Sorry…”

Bart rubbed the spot he was hit in with his knuckles, then looked down and realized it was a folded-up piece of paper. 

_ Guess one of the edges poked me.  _

He picked it up and started reading. The nearly illegible handwriting led him to believe the note was written by Nelson. He looked back and saw his friend’s annoyed face. Nelson’s widely-opened eyes and scowl urged his younger friend to read the damn note. Getting the hint, Bart went ahead. The crumbled notebook paper read: “Come on! We r gonna drink + break shit! U gotta go”.

Drinking and breaking shit was Bart’s usual favorite. But his talk with the Principal was giving him a new outlook. He decided he would simply head home, maybe hang out with Maggie and show her some of his favorite old CDs. Or maybe, better yet, he’d actually do his homework and start the school year off right. There were so many possibilities! He was beginning to realize why Lisa was so busy all the time. 

Bart crumpled the paper back up, and tossed it carelessly behind his back, returning to his nap. 


	3. Daddy Issues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sudden changes at home leave Bart more emotional than he ever thought he could be. He runs away for the night, seeking some relief from his hectic household.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T/W: violence & bl**d! if that makes you uncomfortable please don't read this!  
> (Last chapter was so positive and this takes quite a negative spin... but I swear it gets better for our boy!)

The two teenage Simpsons entered their quaint, suburban home after an uneventful ride home from school. Bart dropped his keys and wallet on the entryway table that was adorned with cute chachkies and family photos. 

“Bart, Lisa. Thank God you’re home,” Marge greeted her two eldest kids at the door, with a twinge of sadness in her voice. “We’re having an emergency family meeting.”

Bart and Lisa looked at each other, each raising an eyebrow. Confused, they followed their frantic mother, her nervous ticks all too familiar to them. She was smiling, weakly, as she did to cover up how distraught she truly was. Plus, she was talking faster than she usually did when she was ready for a conversation to be over. 

Marge led her eldest two kids to the living room, where Homer was sat hunched over, drowsy eyes glued to the television, with a can of Duff beer dangling from his fingertips. Seated on the floor was Maggie. She had her head rested on her right first, with her elbow resting on her knees, which were folded criss-cross style as she sat. She was chewing bright blue bubblegum and occasionally blew a bubble. Judging by her body language, she was bored of this family meeting before it had even started. She just wanted to fly by the radar, never being part of any conflicts or monumental decisions.

“Hey Mags.” Bart waved at his youngest sister, who nodded back at him in acknowledgement. He deliberately ignored his father. 

After shuffling in and sitting on the ground, on either side of their youngest sibling, they looked a\up at their mother, who stood in front of the TV and made a hand motion, urging her husband to press the “off” button and stand up next to her. Reluctantly, he got up and did so, dragging his drunken body to stand, partially slouched, next to his wife, so anxious she looked like she was about to burst. 

“Children, your father and I have something to say.” 

All three looked up, anxious as to what they would announce. 

Homer burped. 

“Your  _ mother _ dumped me! Because I guess she’s too good for me, since it’s a sin to have a beer after work, now!”

“Not in front of the kids! Please, Homie...”

“Ugh.” He reluctantly kept his mouth shut.

“So… we  _ are _ separating. Until your father can get his drinking under control.”

The Simpson children didn’t know what to say. Things were never perfect for them, but they never thought it would come to this. 

“It’s not a divorce! It’s just a temporary separation for everyone’s wellbeing. Your dad is going to stay with his good friend Barney, you all remember him?

Bart scoffed under his breath and rolled his eyes. “Like that’s gonna help him get sober.” 

Lisa gave her older brother a deathly glare and murmured back at him, much quieter than he had. 

“Bart! Not now!”

He got louder, and more serious with his response. “Why not? Now’s as perfect a time as any to freak out! Maybe Homer isn’t the only one in this house with opinions.” Bart stood up assertively before continuing. His fuse was lit, and he was angry. How come, just when he thought his life had changed for the better, was his household being flipped on its head? “I happen to think he’s a full-on alcoholic, not some poor dude with a drinking problem. Plus he’s a shitty husband and shittier Dad.”

If Bart was still little, maybe ten or eleven years old, his father would have taken use of his physical advantage and hit or strangled him to ‘keep him in line’. But at 17, he was a few inches taller than Homer. Not quite as wide, but his youth gave him a clear physical advantage over the older man. So Homer stood back, deciding verbal attack was the way to go today. 

“Oh. You’re dead!”

Marge tried to interject. “Bart, sweetie, and Homer, hold on-”

It was no use. Bart began rambling on, getting increasingly louder. Homer returned the energy, his drunken ramblings even louder than his son. His fists were clenched and he and Bart. neared closer and closer to one another. 

“Not if I kill you first, Homer!”

“Boy. You better  _ watch your mouth _ !”

Marge cowered behind them. Lisa covered Maggie’s eyes. 

Bart wasn’t actually going to kill his father. He was releasing his lifetime's worth of frustrations about his father. This got much more intense than he intended it to. 

_ What the hell am I doing?  _

“NO!”

In an instant, Homer struck Bart square in the face. Too drunk to aim a solid punch, he used some kind of punch/slap combo and ended up socking his son right in the nose and lips. 

All was quiet for what seemed like hours, but was only about a minute. Everyone was breathing heavily, with their eyes wide open. No one wanted to break  _ this  _ awkward silence, if you could call it that. 

Impulsively, Bart ran up to his bedroom, locked the door, and whipped out his damaged-but-still-functioning phone. After clicking “NELSON💀” in his contacts, he typed out “changed my mind… let’s hang tonite.” and sent it.

Immediately, he received a reply. 

“awsome man i’ll get u @ 9🔥” 

“lit”

A couple of minutes passed and Bart sent his older friend another text.

“u wana drive by the cemetery some time later too?”

“yeaaaaa drinking with dead ppl is hardcore.”

The 17-year-old tossed his phone to the side before grabbing the nearest pillow on his disheveled, unkempt bed, and squashed it onto his face to mask an infuriated scream. When he was finished and took the pillow of his face, he saw three dots of blood, the signature of his nostrils and lower lip that were damaged at the hands of his own dad. He grabbed a couple of tissues from the blue box on his bedside table and clogged a tissue up each nostril, waiting until the blood dried out. He took a third tissue and blotted his eyes with it, expecting to pick up a few drifting tears. When he assessed the white sheet of cotton, though, it appeared to be completely dry. 

****************************************************************

“Get out. Now.” Marge stood instinctively in front of her two daughters, who didn’t know what to do. Maggie was cradled in the arms of her big sister, who held onto her younger sister for comfort, too.

“C’mon, Margie. You know I’d never hit you, or the girls-”

After watching her son, whom she felt more love for than she could possibly describe, go through the events of a few minutes prior, she was in full-survival mode. She had more gall than ever before, and told her lousy husband off. 

“I’ve stood by and watched you… well…  _ abuse _ my son for the past two decades. But it isn’t just about him or Lisa or Maggie. Honestly, it’s my own fault for letting it get this far and waiting until your drinking affected my life, too. The way you’ve been speaking to me and treating me is no way a respectable man should treat his partner.”

Homer had no clue how to react, even as he was sobering up by instinct. 

“You have 5 minutes to grab your things and leave this house. I don’t care where you go or how you get there. Goodbye, Homer.” 

*******************************************************************

As he laid in his bed, basking in the awful mood he couldn’t help but feel partially guilty for creating, Bart listened carefully to the footsteps in his house. He heard quick and heavy steps heading upstairs, going across the hallway, then towards the master bedroom. He deduced Homer was in there, and would be for a couple minutes. The coast was clear, for now. 

He shot out of bed and quickly grabbed his phone, accidentally pricking his finger on a sharp edge of the cracked screen. He didn’t stop to tend to this injury. As fast as he humanly could, he slipped on his nearest shoes, beat-up slip-on Vans that were once checkered black and white (but now seemed to be black and gray), and nearest jacket (which was just a ratty old hoodie full of bleach stains and moth holes). 

_ It’ll do. I just gotta get the hell out of here.  _

Running down the stairs, he bumped right into Lisa as she was headed to her own room. She was holding hands with Maggie, who looked dejectedly at the ground. 

“Oof. Sorry Lees. In a rush. And bye, Mags.”  
“Bart, what the-”

He kept going until he reached his front door. Next to it was the table where he dropped his keys and wallet. He shoved his wallet into his jeans’ back pocket, and his keys in his hoodie. He also called out to his mom before going, wanting to say ‘bye’ before he left, but not giving her enough time to stop him from going.

“Mom! I’m going out!”

“Honey, wait!” Marge charged to the door to greet her son. 

“Mom, please don’t make me stay home right now. I’m just going over to-”

“It’s okay, sweetie. I understand.” She kissed his forehead and took his hand, her’s noticeably trembling. “Just be careful. Don’t be reckless out there. And be home early.”

Bart was surprised that his mom, who was overbearing in her mothering most times, would let him leave after what just happened. But instead of wasting time analyzing it, he left. 

As he stood in the driveway next to his car, Bart took his phone out of his pocket, observing the time to be 6:12. Sick of the tediousness of texting, Bart dialed Nelson’s number and called him up with an idea for a change of plans. 

“Hey Bart-o! I’m getting ready for tonight. It’s gonna be sick!”

“Yeah, sure. Anyway, change of plans. I’m having a little detour right now. Whenever I’m able to meet you, just text me your location and I’ll meet you there, ‘kay?”

“Yeah, no prob. Whatever works. More Sherri for me! Or Terri. I can’t tell them apart. Which one do you want?”

Bart cringed at his friend’s dialogue and simply hung up instead. He jumped into his car, started the ignition, and set out towards Springfield Cemetery. 

**********************************************************************

HERE LIES

ABRAHAM SIMPSON

BELOVED FATHER AND GRANDFATHER

“Much more a father than mine was…” Now that he was alone, Bart could speak out loud to himself, instead of in his head. It was freeing not to have to filter his every thought to cater to those around him. “This tombstone is so shitty. It doesn't even have the years with the little dash!” Angrily, he kicked some of the dirt beneath him. A few specks of brown shot into the air and landed onto the withering flowers that stood on either side of the stone. “Sorry, Gramps.”

Bart shook himself, and decided to sit down right on the dirt. He was seated directly across from the tombstone, looking at it as if it were a face, searching it for its eyes so he could have a proper conversation with it. He settled for the little cross decal at the top, assuming that it was the singular eye on this cyclops made of stone.

“A cross? Did Grandpa even believe in God? I sure fucking don’t.”

He went on for a bit, simply telling his “Grandpa” whatever thought had come to his mind. 

“Didn’t you say that you wanted to be cremated a few years back? Why did Homer make them put your body down here, Gramps? He’s such a douchebag! ...But I guess you  _ did  _ raise him.” 

With not much else to say, Bart closed his eyes and felt the September breeze sway, moving each vibration of his being with it. It was often hard for him to sit still with no thoughts or subconscious ticks, but in this moment he felt serene. This wasn’t his normal state, but for the first time in a goddamn long time he felt like things  _ could  _ be normal, even if they were different. 

“...Well. Thanks for the talk, Grandpa. I’m gonna head out… I’m up to no good, just like you lovingly told me I was.” He chuckled fondly, looking at the engraving of his grandfather’s name one last time before glancing at the sky, taking a deeper look than he intended.

“Woah. That sunset is fucking sick…” He tried to capture an image with his rickety smartphone, but it simply couldn’t capture the beauty before him. He figured it was because part of the serenity he felt was spiritual, somehow. Really, though, it was because of his shitty phone camera. 

“Hm. Whatever.” Bart Simpson shoved his phone back into his pocket, feeling as if he had changed. 

While driving, he took note of the time displayed above his car radio. It read “7:47 pm”.

“Alright. I’ve still got some time before I have to feel bad about being late for Nelson’s stupid hangout thing.”

_ I really don’t want to see those stupid girls!  _

Bart couldn’t help but feel like relationships with women were more complicated to him than they were for anyone else, for various unnamed reasons. Right now, he thought about how hard it was for him to connect with a girl the way Nelson did. No matter which he talked to, he was able to completely change his ‘mode’ and become a new, flirtatious version of himself. The first time Bart saw that side of Nelson, they were both in middle school, trying to score dates for some school dance. They were young enough that Bart could still get away with saying “Ew, girls are gross!” and only get a few gay jokes thrown at him, but as he got older he felt more and more pressure to succumb to. With girls, it was so hard to connect. With other guys, he always felt like he was on an even playing field to communicate the way he wanted. 

Even though Nelson often dragged Bart out of his comfort zone, it wasn’t always bad. They had fun when they partied, one-on-one and with groups. At times it was fun to pretend to be someone else. However, when it came to girls and relationships (if you could call what Nelson does a ‘relationship’) it was uncomfortable in the bad way, the kind that made his hands clammy and left him thinking of any possible excuse to get away. 

So, Nelson took Bart out of his safe bubble, which was both his asset and his downfall as a friend. When Bart wanted to feel safe, he turned to Milhouse. They didn’t talk much about serious things, as young boys often do to save face and seem stoic, but they had a mutual understanding when they were together. They could chill, just play video games and veg out. Their hangouts weren’t as energized and exciting as they were in elementary school, where they’d ride through Springfield’s suburban streets with their squeaky bicycles looking for mundane adventures that made them feel like heroes or villains, depending on the day. 

Regardless of where they were and what they were doing, and even as older kids who spoke less and thought more, being with Milhouse felt  _ safe _ . He cared for and thought about his best friend more so than he had ever admitted to anybody. As he thought about it that night, he was finally admitting it to himself too.

_ I care about that loser way more than I thought I did, huh? _

He wasn’t too sure exactly how to put it yet. All he knew was he suddenly wanted to see no one but Milhouse. He felt like home. So did Grandpa, but talking to a carved rock wasn’t the same. And Bart needed just an hour or so of real comfort before the crazy night ahead of him. He headed toward his friend’s house, deliberately ignoring all the traffic signs so he could get there faster. 

****************************

The Simpsons and Van Houtens only lived around the corner from one another, so on the way to see his friend, Bart checked up on his own house. He saw that the family car was gone, but all the lights were on. 

_ Homer’s gone… _

The teenager considered going inside and making sure his mom was doing alright, but he knew if he went in he wouldn’t be able to come back out. So he just sent a text to his mother, saying “u ok?”. Soon after he received “Yes. ❤️.” With his consciousness cleared, he continued on. 

Finally outside Milhouse’s front door, hesitated for a bit before knocking on the door. His spiritual moment from earlier was fleeting, and reality was hitting him finally. His heart was beating a million times a minute, and so intensely that he could actually hear the persistent thump. 

_ Idiot. Why are you even here? What do you have to say to him? Just go. _

He may have turned around and retreated to his car. But before he could, Milhouse answered the door, surprised to see Bart on his doorstep. 

“Oh. Hi, Bart! I wasn’t expecting you… or anyone, actually.”

“Yeah. I, uh, needed someone to talk to. It’s been a rough day.”

The two boys entered the suburban home and Milhouse made sure to lock the door. As neurotic and overanxious as he was, he made sure the slide lock was closed too, as he always did. 

Milhouse continued the conversation as they both instinctively walked to sit on the old sectional in the living room. They had spent countless hours over the past decade playing video games or watching cartoons on that couch, with their eyes glued to a television screen, once a blocky curved screen that would fizz each time it turned on and off. Now, upon the outdated living room furniture, sat a large flatscreen. It was the one indication that time had passed in this home that was nearly empty always, void of parental figures and home to one strange, screwy almost-adult.

The Van Houten boy was hoping he could help pry open the iron clam that trapped Bart’s emotions most of the time. After their very brief, yet oddly optimistic, conversation in the school corridor, he thought Bart had turned a new leaf for the better. 

“Today  _ was  _ a strange day.”

“You have no fucking idea.” 

Unfortunately, poor Milhouse’s attempt at prying open his buddy just left them more stumped. Suddenly, he shot up off the cushion he was sinking into. He knew how to get “stoic” men to start talking. 

“Bart, do you wanna drink some alcohol?”

In response to that, of course, he erupted in laughter, taking a minute afterwards to catch his breath. 

“Oh my God, Milhouse, you dweeb! Like  _ you _ drink! Apple juice over ice doesn’t count.” 

“Bart! I wasn’t joking… My dad has some beers left in the fridge. He won’t notice if a couple are gone. And who said it was for me, anyway!?” Tears were actually welling up in his eyes. Milhouse was far too sensitive You’re the one who’s stressed. I figured you’d want to drin, because I know  _ you _ do! Not that you ever invite me! And you came to me-” 

“Woah, settle down, buddy.” Bart reached stood up so he could calm down his riled up companion. He rubbed his neck and went “shhh…” the way he remembered his mother did to calm down Maggie when she would cry as a baby. 

_ I need to stop touching him. Creepy.  _

“Sorry, Bart. I’m not mad. We just never talk like this. So when I’m being serious, and you  _ still _ laugh and act like everythings all silly-nilly… it really hurts my feelings.” 

_ What a strange kid. I guess he keeps my life pretty entertaining though, with his emotions and weird word choices. _

“...Sorry. I guess I’ll take you up on that beer, then.”

Milhouse showed his friend a subtle grin and used the side of his hand to wipe a few teardrops that had dripped loosely from his eyes to the budding stubble on his chin. He walked to his kitchen, just a few feet away, but stopped at the doorway and faced Bart before entering. 

“You don’t  _ have _ to tell me what’s wrong, Bart. I’m guessing it has to do with that busted up lip, or why your jeans are covered in mud… Or maybe not… But I want you to feel like you  _ can _ tell me, if you want.” 

“Uh. Okay.” 

Milhouse went on, caught up in this speech he had unknowingly begun. “Because we’ve never been confidants, even though you’re my best friend, Bart. Just now I’m realizing you have more going on than I thought you did. In like, the serious-issues area. And I have my own stuff in that area, too. And we should talk about it. If you want, that is.” 

_ Such a people-pleaser… “if you want”, blah blah blah. _

But Bart couldn’t deny that Milhouse was right. The two of them spent their entire childhood with their eyes glued to the same screens, but never bothered to make eye contact. They cared for each other deeply but, until now, were blissfully unaware of the ways they could offer true companionship and care for another. A simple conversation was the best first step for that. 

And, that fateful night, a conversation they had. They sipped on Mr. Van Houten’s imported European beers, which were bougier than Bart’s usual stash. Plus, it wasn’t Duff so he didn't need to be reminded of Homer just to get his buzz. He and Milhouse talked about their parents, reminisced on the past, and basked in the blissful aura of mature companionship that they had created. 

In fact, they were so comfortable that they naturally lulled into a deep sleep, next to each other on the couch. Unfortunately, Bart’s phone had been ringing left and right, dismissing dozens of texts and calls from his mom, Nelson, and even Lisa, all anxiously wondering where the hell he was. 


	4. No Discipline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bart and Milhouse get even more awkward. The Simpsons see some familiar faces. And Bart is pissed, like usual.

Bart suddenly catapulted out of his deep sleep, swiftly prying off his cheek that melted into the beige leather cushion beneath it. “Oh shit, shit, shit… Fuck! How long was I out?” 

Frantically, he pulled his phone out, that was thankfully still in its pocket. The analog clock atop the screen read “7:02”. If he rushed home he could catch his family before they headed off, have some breakfast, and even make it to school himself.

_ 41 texts… 23 voicemails… an email? Must be from Lisa.  _

It was. 

The boy scrolled through the texts his mother had sent him, hoping she was more worried than she was pissed. To his advantage, she wasn’t pissed at all. Of all the things to be angry at, her son was not at the top of the list. She  _ was _ extremely worried when he didn’t come home. Her son didn’t have time to call her back right now, but he figured showing up back home, safe and unharmed, would be a sufficient answer to all of her calls. 

He did, however, text back Nelson. From him, Bart received a few texts, with increasingly awful spelling and grammar, describing how great his night was going, and how Bart was a sucker for missing out. Plus, a few blurry photos from the middle of the night that Bart didn’t have the energy to dissect. 

He simply replied with: “sorry i missed it. got held up”.  _ That’s good enough _ , he thought to himself. 

He looked down at Milhouse’s still-sleeping self and wondered whether he should wake his friend up. Bart leaned down and gently poked the other boy’s cheek, textured like sandpaper.

“Heyyyy. Milhouse?” Bart asked him, quietly. 

Clearly he was a heavy sleeper, much unlike Bart. Unfortunately (in this situation), Milhouse wasn’t as used to insomnia and lasting off of only a couple hours of sleep a night as his friend was. So, Bart figured, he’d let his buddy catch a few z’s. He gently stole the crimson bifocals off of the other boy’s face, placing them on the glass coffee table. 

“He’s gonna be so pissed that I let him miss school,” Bart laughed inwardly at how predictably uptight his friend was. Nonetheless, it was nice knowing that no matter what, he could rely on Milhouse to  _ be  _ Milhouse. That’s why he showed up at his house last night in the first place. 

*************************************************************************

Upon entering his home for the first time since last night, Bart was greeted by his family old dog, with the white hairs signifying his age feathered along his fuzzy brown body, barking louder than he had in years. 

“Aw, hey buddy!” Bart crouched down and scratched Santa’s Little Helper.  _ What a stupid name for a dog… _

Thinking about SLH’s name and his origin as a member of the Simpson family reminded him of the first time he met his furry friend. He was 9 years old, and accompanied his father at the dog-racing track on Christmas eve. They bet on Santa’s Little Helper because of his name, assuming the Christmas-theme would make him lucky. Just the Simpsons’ luck, he came dead last. 

The scrawny pup’s owner abandoned him after the race out of frustration. Bart begged his father to keep SLH, and he succumbed, feeling bad for the poor dog. 

Bart’s memory-daydream was cut short by his mother’s greeting. She was still in her robe, and her blue locks were still woven into little pink curlers. 

“Oh, Bart you’re okay!”

She ran up and hugged her only son, hanging on tight. 

“Woah, no need to hang on for dear life there, Mom. I’m fine…”

“Where were you?”

“I actually just passed out early, over at Milhouse’s. Sorry I didn’t answer your calls. I get if you’re mad at me.”

Marge pulled away, and held her son by his chubby cheeks. 

“Right now, I’m just happy you’re home…” Her voice cracked on the last word in her sentence, as if she was about to cry.”

“Oh god, Mom. I’m sorry… about yesterday. And last night, too. And everything I’ve-” 

“You  _ never  _ need to apologize to me, okay? I love you, always and no matter what.”

“...Yeah. You too, Mom.”

Their moment was cut short by Maggie and Lisa’s emergence down the stairs. 

“Bart!” She ran up to her brother and hugged him, happy he was home. He felt happy about it too. 

************************************************************************

Bart and Milhouse didn’t have any classes together this year. Milhouse was on such a higher level academically than his best friend, striving in all honors courses while Bart coasted by. As a result, lunchtime was the only time of the day they saw each other. 

When Bart was in the lunchline, picking up a tray, he was ambushed by a pissed-off Milhouse. 

“Why didn’t you wake me up? I was 20 minutes late to school!”

They had such a great time, and Bart was more vulnerable before than he had every been before? Granted. “You, uh, looked peaceful.”

“Oh. That’s, uh-” Milhouse turned beat red. 

“That came out weird. I just meant that I felt bad waking you up.”

“Yeah, no, of course. I was still a little pissed at you, but I think I’m over it.”

“Good, because now I’ve decided that  _ I  _ am pissed at  _ you. _ ” Bart grinned ear-to-ear. He loved getting on his friend’s nerves, probably too much. 

“I know you’re teasing me, and I refuse to react to that.”

They both giggled among each other as they slid along the lunch line, sandwiched between other students, as the boorish lunch-ladies dumped different colored slops upon their trays. 

Bart noticed his optimism was back. Not just the optimism he had yesterday during the school day, but the optimism that he hasn’t remembered having since childhood. He spent the whole day awake in his classes, not quite participating and being studious, but teasing his teachers and lazily skimming through the notes the way he did before he was hit by grief. 

_ Who knew that opening up about my emotions would have a positive outcome? Plus not having to see Homer this morning wasn’t an awful experience, either.  _

“Your mom didn’t pack you lunch today, Bart? She must be pretty beat down.”

It was strange for Bart to have Milhouse know that much about his home life these days, so he needed to adjust to having these kinds of conversations. 

“Yeah uh, she was pretty pissed yesterday, I told you that.”

“Yeah, you did… Should I still call her ‘Mrs. Simpson’ even if she’s not with your dad anymore?”

“... I don’t know, actually. Just call her ‘Marge’ if you’re gonna talk to her. You’re way too formal with her, Mil.” 

With their trays filled, the boys sat down, side by side, at the single barren cafeteria table they could find. After a couple minutes, familiar faces from the senior swarmed to nearby seats. Nelson, Lisa, and Martin were among those faces. While Lisa was  _ technically  _ in her second year of high school, extra courses she had been taking in her free time since the eighth grade prepared her to graduate at the same time as her indolent brother in the lower-middle of his class, and Nelson who was near dead last in grades every year, even being held back twice. Nelson and Lisa sat a little  _ too  _ close together, their elbow’s bumping every so often, which prompted a chuckle or smile out of each other whenever it happened. Bart would inevitably point this out, teasing them and possibly going a bit overboard. He knew they liked each other, but had no clue what to make of it, considering the age gap, plus the fact that he knew someone like Nelson would only bring his brilliant sister down. So, instead of taking time to seriously think about them, he made light of it through humor. 

Even though he sat with the group nearly every day, no one really liked Martin all that much, but Bart’s group seemed to be the least cruel to him. And he had this strange chemistry with Nelson, despite being the dichotomy of one another. In elementary school, Nelson was his bully. But Martin grew a spine as he grew older, and their banter turned into friendship. So, naturally, he tagged along onto Nelson’s friend group during school hours for protection from the other assholes who he hasn’t yet turned over a leaf with. These days, it was mostly underclassmen shouting insults and slurs as they passed him, as an attempt to prove their own coolness or manhood. Fortunately, Martin’s intelligence allowed him to be comfortable with who he was despite all of that. He prided himself on being inquisitive, which is the way smart people admit that they’re nosy and not ashamed of it. 

“What’d everyone do after school last night? I presume Nelson and Bart had some wild adventure, no?” Martin eagerly opened up the floor for conversation. 

Nelson was glad to answer his unlikely friend. “Well  _ I  _ had one hell of a Wednesday night. But Bart totally blew me off!” 

Lisa chimed in, “Yeah, Bart. Where the hell were you last night? You didn’t even answer my email.”

“Because who the hell sends  _ emails _ to people when they’re looking for them? Like, if I was lost in the woods and dying I’d log onto fucking AOL mail just incase?” 

“You didn’t answer Martin’s question. Or mine. And you were so dodgy this morning too, but I didn’t wanna say anything because I know Mom was in a very sensitive state. And I was just happy you were safe. ”

“Don’t make this about Mom. You and Martin are just being two nosy little nerds. If you had a life you wouldn’t have to hate on mine, right Milhouse?” 

Milhouse began to slowly turn a pure crimson hue as soon as Lisa brought up the mystery of her brother’s whereabouts. Now, being pointed out by name and brought into the conversation, his face heated instantaneously. His blush was especially intense because he didn’t quite turn red like a normal person, with a light hint of pink on each cheek. His forehead, cheeks, nose, chin, and ears turned fire-truck red at the scene of an embarrassment. It became obvious to everyone at the table that he was knew  _ something  _ about where Bart was the night before 

_ What’s there to be embarrassed about? Hanging out with my best friend? I don’t have to hide that from them… But it was pretty intense, wasn’t it? _

The truth is that Bart and Milhouse bonding and getting closer was reminiscent of their old times together, but not a parallel to the way things were among them as kids. The whole vibe was different, more intimate. It almost felt dirty to think about, even though it was nothing to be ashamed of. 

“Milhouse… anything you’ve got to say?” Lisa tried to pry the truth out of Milhouse, something she often did of him over the years. His awful lying paired with Lisa’s lawyer-like commitment to the truth and nothing but the truth was a combination that often left the blue-haired boy a blundering mess. Not to mention that his childhood crush on Lisa was never quite resolved with proper closure. He wasn’t into her anymore. He’d even had a brief few relationships with other girls. Dorky, awkward girls, but girls nonetheless. But Milhouse was a sentimental type, and his first love always got the best of him. And that pissed Bart off. Though, what  _ didn’t  _ piss him off these days?

Bart glanced over at Milhouse with a raised eyebrow, genuinely curious as to whether or not he’d lie. He wasn’t embarrassed of the truth, because it didn’t even sound so embarrassing really.  _ We got buzzed, had some deep conversations we wouldn’t have had the balls to have otherwise, then just fell asleep because it was a long fucking day and we were tired… Who cares? It’s not like we made out or something.  _ Now Bart was red, too. 

Milhouse stammered through a response that he hoped wouldn’t, to put it plainly, seem gay. “Uhm.. well.. The thing is… Bart, like, rang the doorbell-”

Nelson rubbed his hands together. “Haw haw! This is gonna be gay, I can tell!” 

_ So clearly I said something wrong _ , Milhouse thought to himself. 

“Shut your fucking mouth, Nelson.” Bart snapped, an accumulation of little annoyances coming out all at once.” 

“Okay…  _ Gay Bart. _ Go defend your boyfriend.” Nelson sneered at Bart

“Nelson, that isn’t even clever. It’s just an adjective and Bart’s name. Plus casual homophobia is-”

Bart didn’t wanna listen to this anymore. He gave up. What the hell was he hiding, anyway? “If you all  _ must  _ know, we just hung out. Me and Milhouse, I mean. It was last minute and there weren’t any random _ sluts _ ruining it for us, either. Kinda like they always do when I hang out with  _ you _ , Nelson.” 

Lisa, with her obvious crush on Nelson, was pissed off. She took an aggressive bite off of a baby carrot before asking, “Who exactly  _ are  _ these random… sl- no, I refuse to say that word. It’s degrading towards my fellow women- the random, uh, individuals, that you speak of?” When she was nervous, which clearly wasn’t too often for this overachiever, Lisa spoke in quite a formal tone, hence her interesting vocabulary choices. 

“Why do you care?”

Martin could tell he chose the wrong day to ask everyone about their night. He tried to lighten the mood, and obviously failed. “Well, if I could briefly interject-”

“ _ SHUT UP, MARTIN! _ ” everyone shouted in unison. In response, Martin simply dropped his shoulders and combed his plastic fork through his soggy, gray mush. He would keep to himself for the remainder of the lunch period. 

Nelson broke the short silence. “The sluts themselves don’t matter as much as the fact that it's weird that your brother doesn’t want them, Lisa. It makes him seem gay, doesn’t it?”

“You know, Nelson, you’re actually quite obsessed with my brother’s sexuality. It’s not attractive for you, honestly.” Lisa added, cheekily, though she meant every word she said. The older boy frowned slightly, but detecting her playful tone, wasn’t down for too long. 

Bart spoke up, after his own period of silence. 

“... and if I was, Nelson?

“... What, gay?”

“Yeah, that. What would you do?”

“I don’t know. Probably just call you gay, and call Milhouse your boyfriend. Or maybe Martin if you’re  _ really  _ pissing me off.” Martin had the discipline of a cultured monk not to respond to this in the slightest way. 

“So, no matter what I am, you’re gonna treat me like you already do?”

“Wow. Guess I didn’t think of it like that.” Nelson scratched his head, actually surprised by what his own mind had come up with. “I guess so.”

“Alright, good to know…” Bart spoke quietly as his eyes drifted off towards Milhouse, who just finished putting a straw into his water bottle, as if they weren’t designed to be picked up and sipped from. 

_ He’s so weird... _

******************************************

After he got home from school that Friday Bart caught his youngest sister laying down on her back on the living room sofa. she had earbuds in, attached to an iPod in her pocket. Its volume was loud enough that Bart could hear and recognize the music: 

_ ♫♪“Somebody's Heine' _

_ Is crowdin' my icebox _

_ Somebody's cold one _

_ Is givin' me chills _

_ Guess I'll just close my eyes”♫♪ _

The sense of pride he felt for putting at least one sister onto music that she actually liked was drowned out by the uneasy feeling he had realizing how similar she was to him in other ways. The way she laid there unphased reminded him of the way he often miserably laid awake at night. He thought of the last day Homer slept at their house and how he did not sleep one wink, a spitting image of Maggie in this moment. Bart would do anything he could to make sure his sister didn’t have to go through the same shit he did. 

_ What makes  _ me  _ happy?... Oh, yeah!  _

He tip-toed up to his sister and carefully pulled out one earbud, which made the music much louder to him.

_ ♫♪“The bottle is ready to blow…”♫♪ _

“Hey Maggie? Wanna go for a walk? We can vandalize some shit too.” 

Maggie opened her eyes, enthusiastically nodded, and shot up from her position into sitting-up straight . She was dragged out of her funk temporarily for the chance at a hands-on snippet of her brave and badass older brother’s life.

After promising their Mother they’d be home in just a little bit, the siblings were on their way. Bart had dumped his backpack out onto his bed and replaced its scholastic content with various hues of spray paint. He and his sister were going to dedicate the next hour to 

his car was the only one left after Homer took off. 

They walked a bit further than they presumed they would. The siblings stumbled upon the rougher sides of town. Bart recognized it, sadly.

“This is a pretty sketchy neighborhood. My friend Nelson lives here, and he’s a 40-year old high schooler.”

Maggie giggled at her brothers remark, but took him seriously enough to grab onto the strap of his backpack and walk closely with him: 

Luckily, they found an empty alley behind an apartment complex that didn’t have any prostitutes or used needles sprawled on the ground.Bart shook a can of yellow spray paint and quickly sprayed a smiley face onto the dark green dumpster that smelled like death. 

_ There probably _ is _ a number of corpses in this thing.  _

He looked back up at his sister who'd been attentively and admirably watching him the whole time. They both grinned ear to ear, but their moment was interrupted by a coarse, disturbed, and oddly familiar voice from a medium distance. 

“What the hell are you kids doing? Get outta my dumpster befores I get rid of the smiles on those little faces!” 

“Oh shit. Mags, get behind me.” 

She complied, and Bart put his keys between his fingers, positioning them like claws in defense. 

As the silhouette nearer closer, they saw the scrawny, older man much clearer. He was in his late forties or fifties, had a mop of curly gray hair, and a gruesome face covered in stubble and subtle scars, indicating a fully lived but deeply unfortunate life.

Bart cocked his head to the side. “Moe?” 

“Oh my God, it’s the Simpson kids! Or at least the dumb ones. Figures the other one isn’t here, in a random alley. Does your mother know you’re in this shithole right now?” 

Moe was the owner and only bartender of Homer Simpson’s favorite place in Springfield, Moe’s Tavern: the dive bar frequented by all of Springfield’s least desirable bachelors and deadbeats. Moe and Homer always said they were “friends from way back”, but Bart didn't know what that meant. How did they meet? High school? An old job? Maybe they bonded over their love for alcohol.

_ At least Moe here had the decency to live a shitty life by himself and not drag an innocent wife and kids into it _ . Bart cursed Homer in his mind. Even without him home, he couldn’t escape thinking about his father.  _ Everything he touches turns to shit. Like that guy from that old story, but not with gold- with steaming hot dog shit.  _

“Wow, Little Maggie’s growing up. You know I used to babysit you when you were a little baby, probably only a year or so old. And Bart, right? You’re the guy who used’a always prank call my bar. God, that sure made my blood boil those days.” He spoke excitedly, pleasantly surprised by his reunion with these kids. 

Moe clearly had a soft spot for the Simpsons. He went from menacing to sarcastic but still oddly charming within moments of realizing who he was talking to, even though it’d been years since he saw them. 

“You know, now that I got you guys here I gotta ask you’s something. Where the hell is your father? He ain’t been at my joint in days, and you guys know your pops is a boozehound. He’s probably at the ol’ bar more than he’s home. Reminds me of my own old man, actually.” 

“Yeah uh, actually, man, my mom’s divorcing him. God knows where he is.” 

“...So your mom’s single?” 

Bart motioned to his key-claws. “I’ll kill you if you touch my mother, Moe Szyslak.” 

“Woah, woah, woah. Calm down, mama's-boy. You kiddos get back to your graffitis. I’ll be going back into my apartment. Maybe if you guys vandalize my building they’ll lower rent.” 

After Moe walked away, and presumably back into his building, Bart crouched down to talk to his sister. 

“Let’s head home, yeah?” 

*****************************************

“At lunch today, that felt like a lot of drama for something that really wasn't a big deal, right, Lisa? I’m right, aren't I?” Bart asked his sister as he drove her to her weekly saxophone lessons. It was only 4:30, meaning Lisa didn’t stay after school today, isolating in the bandroom. And that Bart didn’t get a detention. 

“It  _ seems _ that you are right, at a first glance of the situation…” Lisa answered, with all the sincerity of an old-timey detective solving a murder mystery. 

“What the hell are you talking about, man?” Bart asked, not looking away from the road, but clearly tensing up in his shoulders and furrowing his eyebrows.

“Well, if it wasn’t that big a deal, you could have just said something as soon as you were asked. Or, if you weren't embarrassed or ashamed, you could have sent me a text last night saying you were at Milhouse’s… Why didn you want me to know?”  
“Honestly, Lees. You want my real answer?”

“Always.”

“Promise not to get mad? ‘Cos it is kind of a stupid answer.”

“I swear.”

“I wasn’t even thinking about it. I was just focused on the moment, really.” 

“But I sent you all those texts! You didn’t hear your phone ring even  _ once _ ?”

“I wasn't looking at my phone! God, why does everyone think I’m hiding something!” 

“Yesterday was  _ rough…  _ for all of us. But especially for you, Bart. You just ran off without a word and except everyone to believe the most  _ impulsive  _ 17-year old alive, who just lost his father and grandfather, 

“Oh my God, I get it. You guys are afraid of the next *crazy* thing I’m gonna do! Because that’s Bart Simpson!  _ Just  _ like his father!” 

Lisa didn’t want Bart to blow up, so she needed to carefully orchestrate her next words.  _ Oh Bart, if you could only realize how much like him you’re being because of this immature freak out. I’d hate to be a bitch, but I can’t deal with this younger, stronger version of my dad that’s smart enough to detect and return sarcasm.  _

“Let’s not talk for the rest of the ride, okay Bart?” Lisa just wanted to squash this so she could focus on sax-class and not on her petty big brother. 

“Fine, ice-queen.” Bart rolled his eyes and clenched his jaw. “Stupid sister…” He mumbled under his breath angrily.

_ All  _ he wanted to do was drink right now. And knowing that Homer hadn’t been showing up at Moe’s Tavern made it really tempting to head over there as soon as Lisa was out of his car. 

Luckily, his prematurely budding alcoholism wasn’t as strong as his will to not become his father, and he controlled himself for the time being.


	5. Don't Have a Cow, Man!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bart and Milhouse get into an unprecedented fight. Will they learn to kiss and make up?  
> Plus, Lisa makes a new friend!

The following days and weeks felt surprisingly normal for the Simpsons. It was different, and difficult at times, but they quickly fell into a new routine without Homer. 

Marge found herself a gig housekeeping in the nicer area of Springfield. She needed something to occupy her mind, and being a housewife for the past 17 years, she didn’t have any hobbies to do so. Plus, without the “ breadwinner” home, she knew eventually she’d have to start working to pick up the slack financially. 

Maggie and Lisa were doing quite well, too. Lisa had won Student Body President, an additional responsibility to distract her even more from certain tragedies. Maggie spent more time hanging out with the family. She spoke more, too, finally unafraid of consequences when she did. Her older sister also spent a considerable amount of time at the family home. Still dedicated to practicing her music, she opted for practicing in her room and sometimes even the living room when her mother begged to hear the beautiful music. 

Sometimes Homer would call or text his teenage kids. It was mostly about their mother and how she had brainwashed them to hate him, or his attempts at guilt tripping them into talking to him again. Sometimes Lisa responded, out of genuine love and compassion for the man that was clearly going off the rails. She would change the subject when he mentioned Marge, and hang up entirely when he asked to speak to Maggie. After the first text Bart received from his father in his absence, he blocked Homer’s phone number. Sometimes he would receive calls from random numbers with no caller ID, or area codes from different states. At first he assumed they were spam, but he soon realized they weren’t. 

“I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t want to confront him. I don’t need closure. I just never wanna see him again.” Bart was ranting as he lounged on his back in Milhouse’s twin sized bed. Unlike Bart, who had the same childish bedroom decor his whole life, Milhouse had a set of Ikea bedding that added a mature touch to his room. Bart had a throw pillow over his stomach, and his arms were folded over it. 

Milhouse was laying next to him, but he was on his stomach. He was listening to Bart rant, but not enthusiastically. He was also playing Tetris on his phone, with his elbows resting on the mattress. 

“Yeah…”

“You’re not listening, are you?”

Milhouse was quiet for a couple of seconds, before ultimately losing his round of Tetris, and angrily placing his phone face down on the gray comforter. 

“Bart, please don’t take this the wrong way. We’ve been best friends for, what, 12 years?”

Bart nodded, intrigued. 

“I’m glad to help you release your stress, and I am  _ so  _ glad you’re not hiding things like you usually do. But lately, you’re being a _ bit  _ of a pussy.”

“ _ Hey!  _ What the hell?” Bart was now sitting up straight. The pillow was in his lap, pressed against his legs underneath both of his clenched fists. His brow furrowed as he sharply turned to face Milhouse. 

“All you talk about is your daddy issues! We never do anything  _ I  _ wanna do! Why can’t we go to the movies or something? I told you I’d pay for your ticket and everything!” 

“Guess it’s true what they say about only-children.”

“What is?”

“They’re the most selfish people alive! C’mon! I’m going through some real shit here and all you wanna do is see a fucking movie.” 

Milhouse had mastered the art of intentional gaslighting & passive aggression. It was a learned trait he picked up watching his parents fight all of his life.

He responded by saying, “It’s getting late, you should probably head back home.” instead of addressing the actual argument at hand here.

“Seriously? You’re gonna be passive aggressive with me? Just apologize for being a little bitch to me and I’ll forget you said what you just said.”

“...No.” 

“I’ve got more important shit to do right now. I can’t be here.” Bart stormed out, a new piece of furniture shaking with each heavy footstep out of the Van Houten house. 

*************************************************************

That night Bart thought about his argument with Milhouse, talking it over with himself aloud in his bedroom. 

“Why does he get me so fucking mad? If anyone else would have called me a pussy I would have just called them something worse… Why is  _ Milhouse _ so under my skin? UGHH!” Bart furiously chugged his pillow at the wall parallel to him. It hit the wall so hard it knocked down an old Sublime poster that he hung up freshman year. That was the year he swore he was gonna make his room more “mature” and look the way he wanted it too. Like most big tasks, though, he abandoned it for no one reason, other than the attention disorder he so desperately needed professional help with. 

Little did he know, his sister Lisa had her ear against his door the whole time, and heard the aggressive vocalizations of his thoughts. She knew that he was upset as soon as she heard his stamping footsteps, and knew from past experiences that he didn’t always love opening up to her. So, she resorted to spying to find out what was going on in her brother’s life.

_ So, it's about Milhouse… those two *have* been acting strangely lately… _

Lisa scurried back to her room, left wondering what exactly Bart’s issue was. Luckily for her, she was smart enough to figure it out before even Bart himself did. 

*****************************************************************

When the lunch bell rang at Springfield High School, students quickly filed through the hallways to head to the cafeteria. Bart Simpson was in no rush to get to lunch and see Milhouse. The thought alone of seeing him, after what he said, was making Bart’s blood boil. 

Lamentably for the 17-year-old, he 

“Bart,” Milhouse greeted, dry and matter-of-factly as he nodded to acknowledge him, in exchange of his usual friendly waves and ‘hey’s. 

“Nope. Not this. I can’t deal with you doing this shit.” Bart kept walking past his beady-eyed friend, who was pissed that he wasn’t playing along in this petty game.

“What the hell? You’re ignoring me?” Milhouse chased after Bart, and placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him from walking away. 

Bart was calm in his response, a ticking time bomb of rage doing what he could to not blow up. “You really pissed me off.”

“I just don’t get why it means so much. It was a  _ little  _ mean, sure, but-”

The bomb blew and Bart’s voice raised exponentially in volume. “ _ Everything _ you say to me means so much, man! You have the power to make me more angry than anyone ever has! I’ve been strangled, hit, screamed at, fucking  _ abused _ my whole life. But I was  _ never  _ as pissed as when you called me a pussy like that yesterday!” 

“It’s not my fault if you’re sensitive! If you  _ need _ my approval, it says more about you! Don’t blame me for your feelings.” 

“How am I the sensitive one here?”

“I think it’s very clear how! I miss the old Bart! The one who wanted to have fun! The one who convinced me to do stupid shit all the time! The one who wanted to have fun and not bitch all day at home. I don’t know who this new person is. He’s not my best friend, that’s for sure.”

“How the hell did this escalate so far, man? I’m trying to be more sensitive and responsible… more like you, actually. And you’re mad about it?”

“Sorry I  _ miss you _ ! Asshole!” Milhouse did something he had never done before. He had no other way of expressing how pissed he was verbally, and so he swiftly outstretched his right palm to Bart’s cheek in his utmost aggression. 

“Did you just fucking  _ slap me!? _ ” Bart was furious. All the logic in his mind had disappeared. His actions from then on were fueled purely by rage and adrenaline. 

He punched his best friend square in his jaw. The collision of Bart’s fist against Milhouse’s sharp jawline probably hurt his knuckles more than the other boy’s face. It served less as a defeating blow than as a warning that he  _ would  _ fight Milhouse if he hit back.

“Why’d you put on all that muscle if you’re not gonna use it to fight me for real?”

“It’s on!”

They both leaned over, rolling up their sleeves and scowling at each other, preparing to charge into a full-on brawl. 

Alas, it was just their luck that the yelling from before attracted a crowd of spectators. When they got into fighting formation, handfuls of students chose sides to root for. Surprisingly, their responses were mixed in favor. 

“I’m rooting for Bart! He’s fought before, and he’s definitely more rough around the edges,” regarded one student.

Another responded, “Yeah but that Milhouse kid is fuckin’ swole now! He’ll beat that chubby blond guy to a pulp.” Many nodded and murmured in agreement. 

Despite their surroundings, nothing brought the boys out of their aggressive gaze. It seemed like they were just about to lunge at each other, when a firm yet proper voice boomed over all the rest, deafening in comparison to the cheers and arguments. 

“ _ Woah _ ! What in the world is going on here, students?” 

Suddenly, everyone was quiet, except for the Principal who had just barged in to bring an end to this. 

*******************************************************************

“Detention? What? I’ve never gotten detention before, Principal, Sir. Th-this must-” 

“You had a fight on school property, Mr. Van Houten. That’s strictly a violation of our conduct rules.”

“No… it’s gonna ruin my permanent record!” He turned around to Bart, sad eyes searching for any kind of drive to help him out. Maybe a ‘ _ No! I initiated it. Now let that innocent man be free! _ ’, or some other fantasy where Bart comes through and saves the day for his weaker, more anxious friend, might come true if Milhouse just thought about it * _ really _ * hard.

“And Mr. Simpson. Your grades and attendance may be up, _slightly_ , but you still have some real maturing to do in other areas, clearly.”

“Yeah. No arguments here.” 

The Principal dismally exhaled and shook his head.

“Alright then, gentlemen. You two should report to room 106 for your after-school detention. I hope I won’t be seeing either of you again too soon.” 

He made a final glance at Bart when he spoke, who retorted by looking away, embarrassed. Bart knew he could do better, just like everyone had told him. Homer was gone, he was handling his grief maturely, and his relationship with his mom and sisters was going smoothly. Now what was it keeping him from fulfilling his potential? 

*************************************************************

After receiving Bart’s text about his detention today, Lisa groaned realizing she’d have to kill time until he was able to come home. Not wanting to return to the band room, she strolled to the school library, which was barren except for one familiar figure seated by the computers, with a pen behind 

“Oh, hey Martin.” She sat down next to him, trying to be friendly. 

“Hi, Lisa. You’re sitting next to me?”

“Well, we’re friends, right?”

“Wrong.” Martin looked away from his computer to face Lisa, who was just getting settled in. “We’re friendly, but we’re not friends, are we?”

“Well, if you’re looking for my honest answer, I  _ have _ always seen us as rivals. I’d say we’re neck-to-neck in intelligence. You’re the only one at this school who ever intimidates me in terms of achievement.”

“...Yeah, me too.” Martin scratched his strawberry-blond scalp and sighed. “But you’ve always been ahead of me. We’re always the top smartest kids, but for some reason you’ve always been loved by everyone. That’s what most people find important- likeability, not smarts. Maybe it’s because I’m chubby, or gay…”

“Oh, you’re gay?” Lisa genuinely didn’t know he was. She kept an open mind about these sort of things, not subjecting everyone to stereotypes unlike most of her high school peers. 

Martin chuckled, “You don’t have to pretend you don’t know, Lisa. I’ve heard all the remarks from everyone, including your brother.” He shook his head, realizing he had digressed. “And you’re thin, straight…”

_ Eh… I’ll stay quiet and let him have his moment.  _

“You’re a beautiful, kind, intelligent girl, Lisa. You’ve got my good traits, plus you have a whole array of even better traits I wish I could have.”

“You know, my life isn’t perfect, either. I put a lot of effort into making it seem that way, though.” 

“...Oh?” 

“Yeah, uh. Especially recently. My dad’s been MIA for the past month or so. My mom kicked him out because he wouldn’t stop drinking and coming home in the middle of the night.” 

“That sounds awful, Lisa.” 

“It’s been tough, yeah. But everyone has something, right?”

“...Right.”

Lisa was surprised that she had a heart-to-heart with Martin, of all people to randomly open up to. It was a nice change for her, though. Even if everyone at school admired her, they weren’t exactly friends with her. No one knew the real Lisa, beyond her persona as the perfect student and activist. They didn’t know that she hid the pain of loss. They didn’t know that she and her mother would cry together some nights. They didn’t know she was power hungry, either. Like many others in her life, she hid the darkness within her to uplift the light that gained her the admiration she desired. 

Even sharing just a small peek into her outside life with someone felt good. And even if it was Martin, a loser through and through, having a friend of her own, whom she didn’t piggyback onto her brother to make, 

When she noticed there were only a few minutes left until her brother's release, she cheerfully said her goodbyes to Martin before picking up her book bag and heading out. She was stopped right outside the glass library door when she accidentally bumped into a much larger figure who was just walking by. 

“Oof!” The girl bumped back into the door behind her, clumsily stumbling to the ground. 

“Oh, it’s Lisa!” spoke a raspy voice that was all too familiar to the blonde teen. He extended his calloused hand out to help her stand back up.

Lisa blushed, realizing who she’d just made a fool of herself in front of. 

“Hi, Nelson…” 

They stood there awkwardly for a moment, stumbling over words, each trying to start a conversation but not knowing which angle to take. 

“So, um- uh- What are you doing near the library?” Lisa asked. “I wouldn't expect you to hang out in there.” 

“You sayin’ I’m dumb?”

“Oh, God no! I-”

Nelson chuckled, and playfully patted the petite Lisa’s head. He towered over her, with her line of sight only reaching his chest without having to extend her gaze upward. 

“Haw haw! I’m just playing with you! I just wanted to stop by ‘cos I knew Martin was in there. He said he’d help me out for this quiz I got tomorrow.” 

Lisa found it hard to make eye contact with him, his hand still patting away at her head. 

_ This is so embarrassing… _

“Oh, sorry!” Nelson was bashful, too. He lifted his hand off her head and placed it in his pocket, standing across from her with his shoulders slumped. 

“Well, um, I’ll be seeing you, Nelson.”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t wanna leave her quite yet.  _ Oh, what the hell! _

Nelson quickly wrapped his arms around Lisa’s shoulders in a simple embrace. Her dainty hand extended onto his back, unable to fully wrap around his body. 

“Oh. Hugging, okay.” 

She felt the cold press of a couple stainless steel rings, the scratchy texture of his beat-up black sweater, and his strong odor. It wasn’t exactly pleasant. For the most part, he stunk of sweat that had been masked with Axe body spray. There was also a slight undertone of a grassy, outdoorsy smell that made it all bearable. She had to refrain from sniffing to try and get a better feel for the more pleasant scent on him. 

After a few moments of the hug, Lisa was mortified. This was too much contact for her. She was only 15 and had never been in any sort of relationship. And she knew Nelson wasn’t in the same boat as her in this. He was notorious for sleeping around, and she’d heard from Bart about some of the specifics. Knowing Nelson was entirely out of Lisa’s comfort zone, and in small doses it was thrilling. But in bigger doses, like basking in his arms and scent, she had no clue how to act in response.

Nelson could tell how awkward this was, and pulled away. Lisa noticed he, too, was a light shade of rade. He sheepishly scooted around her so he could get into the library. 

Lisa stood there, apprehensive of saying anything else to make this more awkward. 

“I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Mhm.” She nodded. 

Nelson vanished through the door as Lisa waited in the doorway for a few moments before leaving the trance she was temporarily put in. She could still feel the gentle, steady pressure of his arms around her shoulder. She leaned back onto the corridor wall beside her, closing her eyes and wrapping her shoulders in her own arms, taking the next few moments to blissfully daydream about the one boy who could take this charming, intelligent young woman and turn her into an awkward, blundering mess. 

*********************************************************************

“What the…” Milhouse spoke to himself as he felt something lightly graze his leg beneath his desk. He reached down and picked up a paper airplane, which appeared to be made out of a piece of paper that had been drawn upon. 

‘This is you ->’ it read, right next to a drawing that Milhouse could tell was modeled in his likeness.

Milhouse was taken back when he looked at the sketch. Ballpoint pen on lined paper can be a hell of a medium, apparently, as long as it’s in the hands of the right man. Bart’s portraits fell somewhere between the realms of caricature and realism. He included all the key details that made Milhouse uniquely beautiful. His bulbous, straight nose was the perfect epicenter for which his other features were balanced. His eyes were small and were close together, but his round glasses somehow offset that. Bart drew tiny dots all over Milhouse’s cheeks and chin and upper lip, to be interpreted as stubble. The finishing touch that warmed Milhouse’s heart was the light shading with a red pen over the majority of the face. It was the spitting image of the boy’s intense blush that Bart knew all too well from over the years. 

The more Milhouse glanced over the masterpiece, the harder his heart thumped. And of course, a red tint crept up from his neck to his forehead, too. He felt nervous, too, the same way he did when he talked to girls or spoke in front of crowds. 

He flipped over the paper, and saw something else written. He then read it under his breath: “P.S. Don’t worry. Permanent records aren’t a real thing.” Milhouse’s eyes welled up with tears that he lifted his glasses to wipe. 

Meanwhile, Bart buried himself in his chair and couldn’t muster up the guts to watch his friend’s reaction. His guts felt like they had been all melted together. His face felt like it was 100 degrees hot when he went to bury his head in his hands. 

_ Emotions are so embarrassing… Buddha, Jesus, Satan… help me stop feeling like shit, please.  _

When the detention bell rang, and everyone was free to continue their delinquent lifestyles, most of the kids, and the instructor, rushed out, nearly stumbling all over one another. Bart and Milhouse were both still in their seats. Milhouse sat one row to the right of Bart, three seats closer to the front desk. Bart’s eyes were steadily on the back of Milhouse’s head now, using his actions as a reference from which, too, should act. He decided he wouldn’t get up, but he’d still say something, since he  _ did  _ just sketch a portrait in place of an apology. 

“Hey, Milhouse.” The other boy turned around in his seat to listen. “I know it’s kinda out of character for me but, I want to apologize to you. Not for being a ‘pussy’, but for starting a fight with you over something that stupid. I could honestly come up with excuses right now and talk about my grandpa, my dad, or something else and say that I was projecting because of that. But I think you know me well enough to know I’m impulsive and a little bit crazy sometimes. And it’s no one's fault but my own. So sorry, for real.” 

Milhouse exhaled a sigh of relief.  _ Oh thank God he apologized first. I don’t think I could have handled this any more without seriously bawling… _

“I’m so sorry, Bart!” Milhouse was wailing suddenly. “You’re not a pussy! You’re more sensitive now because you’re being honest and connecting with your emotions! And I shouldn’t have made you feel bad about that!” 

_ So much for not bawling _ , thought Milhouse to himself. 

Bart wondered how the other boy could say all of that so clearly through hysterical tears while Milhouse rushed back to his friend, and latched onto him in a forceful hug, which looked awkward since he was standing while Bart was still sitting. He made it work, though. 

Bart simply patted his friend’s back. 

“Yeah, it’s okay. Don’t have a cow about it, man,” he sighed, then continued. “I really hate fighting with you, you know.” 

They didn’t say anything else, but they both noticed, with their chests smushed against each other, how their hearts beating hard and fast to the same metronome. 

Milhouse pulled away from the hug, but didn’t stand up straight just yet. He stood there, leaning over towards the other boy. They touched foreheads, with Milhouse leaning onto Bart for support. He grabbed his shoulder.

They couldn’t even bring themselves to make eye contact because every movement after that felt so heavy and intense. 

Bart leaned his face in closer. He hoped he wasn’t misinterpreting this, praying to whatever god was listening that he wasn’t about to make a huge-ass mistake. Their lips weren’t quite touching yet, but they could feel each other's respiration through each inhale and exhale. "I liked that drawing, Bart." 

“Good... Mil?”

“Hm?”

“Remember that time Homer found us wearing my mom’s clothes?”

Bart could feel Milhouse’s nostalgic smile forming. 

“Yeah. I told him we did it ‘cos we snuck into his beer and we were just drunk, not gay, and he actually bought it… ” 

“You drink anything today? Alcohol, I mean?”

“No…? You know I don’t rea-”

“Me neither. So, I just thought… maybe you got those two things switched, then.”

“Got  _ what  _ swi-”

Bart closed his eyes and plunged his face forward while using all his strength to clutch the collar of Milhouse’s striped polo shirt. Bart’s other hand was now on the back of Milhouse’s neck, his fingertips just grazing over those brawny shoulders. 

“Oh. I get it.” 

Then, with all of his might, Bart kissed Milhouse. He didn’t know what he was doing and immediately regretted being so aggressive, but he kept pulling his partner closer by his collar, and he fell deeper and deeper into the kiss causing the pressure on their foreheads to get stronger.

_ I’m not gay… is Bart gay? Does liking this kids make me gay? Because I am not, I know that.  _

His body and mind clearly didn’t agree on that, because he showed no resistance in the kiss. He fell deeper until he needed to pull away from the lack of breathing. Then Milhouse made it awkward, as he does with most situations he’s in. 

“I’m breathing kinda heavy. I should get my inhaler so I don’t have an asthma attack.”

“...Uh. Okay.”

Bart wiped his sticky lips with the long sleeve of his oversized flannel. He covered his burning face with his hands as he realized his actions were irreversible. He just kissed his childhood best friend, AKA the biggest dork he knew. The biggest  _ male  _ dork he knew. And weirdly, he felt comfortable with it. He could tell Milhouse had no objections to their kiss, and he often had the same power of persuasion over the boy as his younger sister did. Whatever this meant for them, they’d figure it out, like they had with everything they’ve come across together in the past 12 years. 

After taking a puff of his asthma inhaler to calm his breathing, Milhouse grabbed his things and began to walk away. Bart noticed this, so he quickly got up and met Milhouse by the door.

“Wait, Milhouse.” 

“So… the, um, the k-ki…” Milhouse paused to regain his composure, even just slightly. “What does  _ that _ mean? Are we, um, gay? Or-”

“Don’t worry about it.” Bart leaned in to kiss Milhouse again, this time more gently and tenderly. Plus his height gave him an advantage and more control of the kiss than last time when he was sitting in a children’s school desk. 

Milhouse responded through the kiss. “Mmkay.” 

Unfortunately, it was in Milhouse’s nature to worry about nearly everything. So, worry he did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting this made me really nervous! hopefully this chapter isn't stupid or cliche. 
> 
> this chapter was also really long and hard to write! but i hope someone enjoyed it!


	6. Just Like Billy Pilgrim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bart and Milhouse actually talk about what happened after detention. And Nelson puts his two cents in, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took so long to update, and that this chapter is so short and rushed! this is more of a filler than anything. i hope its not super OOC or scattered plot-wise. i just thought it worked as a bridge between the last chapter and more significant events in the next chapter!

  


That night, Bart drove his sister home in almost complete silence. Both were hiding something from the other, but were too focused on their own shit to realize how strange the other was being. 

Bart barely looked away from the road, only to put on some music and break the awkward silence. He settled on “Hand in Glove” by the Smiths. It’s a B-side he rarely listened to and frankly didn’t know the words to, but it was the first decent song to appear on his phone’s shuffle, so it was good enough to filter this godforsaken car ride that felt like it lasted a lifetime. 

Bart listened to the lyrics intently, trying to focus on anything but his own thoughts. 

  


♫♪“ Hand in glove

The sun shines out of our behinds” ♫♪

  


_ Kind of a weird mental image… Well, Morrisey is kind of a fucked up guy. I wonder what he was smoking when he wrote this one.  _

  


♫♪” No, it's not like any other love

This one is different, because it's us…” ♫♪

  


Those last two lines made Bart gulp. He certainly didn’t regret his kiss with Milhouse, but it seemed like the universe was forcing him to think about love and sunshine and all of these unfamiliar concepts that the boy wasn’t equipped to deal with. And it was just one kiss, between lifelong bros. Who said anything about love?

Actually, it was more than one kiss. And whether it was romantic or not, Bart  _ did  _ love his best friend of, like, 13 years. Obviously. Regardless of how he internally reassured himself, new thoughts reached his conscious mind at a mile a minute, and this sappy music certainly didn’t help. 

  


“Maybe no music today…” He uttered before reaching over to crank the car-radio’s volume down to zero. 

That was the only exchange the two had until dinner that night with Marge and Maggie. 

“So, kiddos, did anything interesting happen at school today? Bart?” Marge asked her kids after she finished pouring iced tea into a fifth glass. 

“What? No!? Who said so?”

“Nothing weird. Nothing interesting at all. Normal day.” Lisa added, frantically. 

“Well, Bart, I heard you had a detention. Your principal called. I am a bit disappointed in you, but I guess it’s only natural you’d be acting up in such a tough time.” Marge was a saint. She actually reached over to her son, who was seated next to her, and stroked his cheek in the fashion of a doting mother such as herself. “I heard it was with Milhouse, too? I thought you guys were the best of friends!” 

“Oh?” Now Lisa was intrigued. Even Maggie put down her fork and raised her eyebrow. 

“Yeah. Friends fight. Whatever.” Bart grumbled with his mouth full of mashed potatoes that were mixed with the occasional corn kernel that made its way onto his fork. 

“That’s the whole story?”

“Well…” Bart considered opening up to his mother about what was going on with himself and Milhouse.  _ Not today. And not in front of Mags.  _ Plus, subconsciously, Bart knew this was more of a Lisa conversation than a Mom conversation for the time being. And considering how he couldn’t even bring himself to talk to Lisa about it in the car ride over…

“Well, what, Bart?” Lisa nagged. She used the clean end of her fork to poke her brother on his forearm that was leaning on the tabletop. “You and Milhouse seemed pretty chummy just the other day…”

Bart wanted to change the subject, and fast. 

“Uhm…. Mom! Who’s the extra glass for? There’s five on the table but four of us. Is someone coming over?” 

She smiled.“Silly! That’s for your-”  _ Oh. Right. He’s not here.  _ “I-it’s for no one. Just, uh, in case one of you kiddos gets extra thirsty!” She wasn’t smiling now. 

  


Lisa looked at Bart, with her eyebrows furrowed and her mouth in a familiar scowl, as if to tell him to shut his mouth for the rest of dinner. And he did.

  


******************************************************************************

Bart ignored the phone vibrating disruptively in his pocket as he helped his sisters do the dishes in silence. He was on drying duty today. He absentmindedly dragged a slightly-dampened dish towel along a freshly washed batch of forks and spoons, then handed them over to Maggie who would then put them away in their tidy drawer. Lisa was on washing duty, and stood next to Bart as she scrubbed. 

“Are you going to answer that?”

“Nah.”

“It could be important. It  _ could  _ be Milhouse.”

“And you  _ couldn’t  _ be more nosy.”

“Well you couldn't have been a bigger asshole to Mom just now! You were doing so well for weeks, at home and school today! But now you’re getting into fights, upsetting Mom... What happened today?”

He thought for a moment. “...I can’t tell you.”

“You  _ can’t  _ tell or you  _ won’t  _ tell?” Lisa handed Bart a couple of freshly rinsed glasses. She pushed with an extra aggression that matched her tone of voice. Her brother did his best to dry the glasses, with his dishrag that was now entirely soaked, while he thought of an answer. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me, exactly. But I’ll tell you when I figure it out.” Bart was genuine. He loved his sister and considered her his closest friend, besides Milhouse. Once he was able to put it all into words, Lisa would be the first to hear. “I promise.” 

Lisa smiled reluctantly at her older brother. “Alright. I’ll hold you to it, then.”

When Maggie returned from putting away the cutlery, she was back at Bart’s side. He ruffled her hair and she chuckled. 

*************************************************************

That night, Bart laid on his stomach upon his bare mattress. When he did manage to get even a couple hours of sleep, he tossed and turned and somehow pulled the sheets of his bed in the process. Bart kept telling himself that he’d get around to fixing it, but he never seemed to get there. 

In front of his face was his computer, and to his surprise his fingers flew upon the keyboard and his eyes stood on the rectangular screen with concentration. He was working on a paper for his English class, and it wasn’t even due for another week. 

“God… Am I turning into Lisa?” 

The boy, usually an underachiever, found himself more occupied with school work than he had ever been before. Maybe it was because there were less distractions at home- no father or grandfather to take up his time- or because he felt encouraged by the positive figures in his life, or simply because he actually enjoyed a lot of the subject matter this year. In English, his class was reading “Slaughterhouse-Five”, which initially got Bart’s attention because it sounded totally badass from the title. He, by chance, actually read past the first few pages and was intrigued by how fucked up it was, in every sense that a book could be. It was confusing, but Bart felt like he understood the non-chronological plot, the dopey and misunderstood protagonist, and the deeply ingrained themes of death, alienation, and the misguiding illusion of religion. 

Bart stopped believing in God when he stopped believing in Santa Claus. When he was three years old, he noticed that there were gifts from his parents and from “Santa” both wrapped in identical paper. Though he couldn’t read, he could tell the handwriting was the same, too. 

He asked his father why that was. Homer took a swig of his beer and answered, “Hell if I know. Ask your mother.” 

So little Bart tumbled in his footie pajamas, as toddlers to, to his mother in the kitchen. 

“Mommy. Why do the gifts from you and Santa have the same paper?”

“Oh… hmm….”

“Mommy?”  
“Well. Sometimes Mommy and Santa help each other out. I lent him some of my supplies!” She smiled at him, her youthful face not yet creating the wrinkles that would deepen after years of marriage and motherhood. Marge leaned down to stroke her little boy’s chubby cheek. 

Bart knew she was lying. If he knew the word “bullshit”, he’d have used it. But he didn’t, so he went back to the living room to stare at the television screen with his dad. 

  


Milhouse still believes in God. It gave him an endearing immaturity and sweetness that came in the form of hope. Bart found it charming most days. And these days, Bart spent more time thinking about Milhouse’s unique charm than ever before. 

***********************************************************

  


The digital clock on Bart Simpson’s cluttered nightstand read “3:18 AM” when he rolled over, awakened by the irritating default ringtone he had set on his phone. Whoever had been texting him all night decided to start calling now, too. And at a god awful time. 

“It’s probably Milhouse. Maybe Nelson. But probably Milhouse.”

  


Bart was absolutely right, and felt some kind of pathetic pride in his correct prediction. There were dozens of texts from Milhouse, mostly him rephrasing the sentence “We need to talk.”, with each statement reading as more anxiety-ridden than the next. There were also a couple of texts from Nelson. There was an image attachment that Bart didn’t feel like opening, a text reading: “whys he asking me this out of nowhere? whatd u do man?” Plus a “ignore that plz. Sry. not my bisness” following it. Bart would absolutely not “ignore” the text. But for the time being, he was going to answer his phone before it went to voicemail. 

“Mil, it's 3 AM, buddy.”

“Bart! Oh, wow.” Milhouse didn’t actually think he’d get an answer, and planned on leaving a lengthy voicemail. 

“What do we need to talk about that’s so important?”

“You _ know  _ what.”

Bart sighed. He did know. He just didn’t get why they needed to talk about it so urgently. He’d figure it all out in time.

“Yeah, I do.”

…

Bart continued. “So what exactly did you need to call me in the middle of the night to say?”

“Are you gay, Bart?” Milhouse had to blurt it out. He had to be upfront with Bart. “I don’t care if you are, really.”

The blond didn’t know how to respond, even though it was a simple question. ‘ _ Yep. I’m gay _ ’ are words you can’t just un-say. 

And, truthfully, Bart had never thought about  _ being  _ “gay” until recently. It was always a word used with such hostility around him. It was a warning for parents. “Be careful, if you raise them wrong, they could turn out gay!”. 

He heard the way his father talked about his gay coworkers during dinner. Or the way he ostracized his mother’s gay friends when he was younger. And he remembered the shit-show of a hunting trip that he got dreadfully lugged along on at age 10, where all the men in his life agreed that if he saw a living thing  _ die _ , it would toughen him up enough that he’d turn out straight. 

Bart recalled “Slaughterhouse-Five” as he thought back on that gruesome day, just weeks after the bashing of his drum set .  _ So it goes… _ he supposed. 

He didn’t want to answer that question. And he honestly didn’t know the answer yet. So he just flipped the question around to his blue-haired friend. 

“Well, are _ you _ ?”

Milhouse didn’t know, either. His relationship with that identity wasn’t quite as traumatic, but he had never considered it until that very day. 

“... I don’t know. I like girls, a lot. You know that.”

“Yeah.” Bart smiled nostalgically, remembering the cringeworthy crush Milhouse had on Lisa up until high school. Plus he remembered a couple of Milhouse’s awkward, early-teen relationships. He shuddered at the thought. 

Milhouse continued, “I was talking to Nelson earlier, Bart.”

“Yeah?”  _ What the hell does Nelson have to do with this? Is that why he texted me? _

“And he told me he thinks that you’re gay. Because you don’t like girls at all. And he’s

always trying to hook you up with girls from our school but you always find a way to avoid it. Is that true, Bart? You never told me.”

_ Because it’s fucking embarrassing…  _ His face was heating up. He held a pillow to his chest.

“You two need to stop talking about me. Find a hobby that isn’t related to me, please.” 

Milhouse didn’t stop, though. He was determined to get his answers tonight. 

“Do you _ like  _ me? Is that why you kissed me?”

Bart’s heart was beating so fucking fast and hard that he was sure the sound would wake up one of his sisters. 

“I don’t know, man. And you just said  _ you _ like girls. So why does it even matter?”

“I like girls, yeah. But I didn’t, _not_ like the kiss. I mean, we did it twice. So I had a chance to say, uh, you know. That I didn’t like it. And you too, actually...” Milhouse was starting to stumble on his words. It’s a miracle that he had been relatively smooth and calm for this long into their conversation. 

Bart was a mess too. “I’m not saying I’m… well… you know… but yeah.” He was humbled to a whisper just-loud-enough for Milhouse to hear on his own end. “...Nelson was right when he told you that I blow off girls. And, um. I  _ did  _ kiss you. So.” 

Bart was laying out all the facts, attempting to figure it all out while he tried explaining himself to Milhouse. 

“So you  _ are  _ gay? You like boys, then?”

“I think that… I like  _ a  _ boy.” 

_ That was soooo fucking cringeworthy, man. I didn’t just say that, did I? _ Bart slapped himself in the head.  _ Idiot, idiot, idiot… _

Tucked away in his own bed, Milhouse was giggling to himself, with one hand holding his phone to his ear and the other bashfully resting on his cheek. 

Quietly, he replied. “I think I like  _ a _ boy, too.” You could somehow hear his smile in his voice.

_ Oh thank fucking God he’s such a dork, _ thought Bart, even though he didn’t believe in God. He just had to thank some force of nature, because this conversation could not have gone this well without some kind of supernatural interference. 

“I’m not gonna wear a fuckin’ dress or marry you or anything. And I’m not saying I’m like, gay. But… things are feeling different between us now. If that makes sense.”

Milhouse’s reply was post-verbal, some kind of muffled squeal, which Bart assumed was a positive response.

“I’ll see you at school. Maybe we can go to the gym or something and talk some more then. Okay, Mil? Your mom’s back, so is she gonna drive you?”

“Yeah, she is. I’ll, uh, see you, Bart… And by the way, I’m still so sorry about what I said yesterday. You’re not a pussy. You’re my favorite person.” 

  


After they hung up, Bart checked out his texts from Nelson. 

_ What is it that he wants me ignoring?  _ He wondered before clicking on his messages app to view the image attachment. 

It was a screenshot of Nelson’s phone, showing part of a text conversation between him and Milhouse from earlier that day. 

  


Milhouse: “Weird question.”

Nelson: “?”

Milhouse: “Do you think Bart is gay?”

Nelson: “idk. maybe.”

“y?”

Milhouse: “Oh. No reason. Just thought he might be.”

Nelson: “yea im thinking abt it. makes sense to me.” 

“if bart wants to fuck dudes thats his bisnus idc. kinda mad tho he didnt say anything and i’ve been wasting all these chicks on him lmfao”

Milhouse: “You don’t mind if Bart likes guys?”

Nelson: “not rlly. martins gay and i still hang out wit him.” 

“n at least barts not in love wit me like martin is haha” 

  


_ I guess there’s no going back now that Nelson knows, too.  _

Bart expected to feel so shitty about this, but Nelson’s surprisingly neutral reaction was oddly comforting. He didn’t wanna make a big thing of this. He didn’t want to be treated differently. And it looks like he wouldn’t be. 

As he drifted off into sleep, finally, Bart felt like an empty pitcher in his soul was starting to be filled, even just the slightest bit.


	7. Dead Asshole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bart and Milhouse finally talk. Emotions are felt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is quite short,! To be honest this was supposed to happen later, but I moved it around and reworked it so it could happen between the events of 6 and the next one. Sorry for the super long wait! Next chapter will be up soon, as I've been working quite hard on it and it's the longest chapter yet! I just wanted to make sure the 2 people who read this got a little something to hold them over! 
> 
> As always, I appreciate all attention on this fic! Every time I see any of the numbers go up I feel so warm & fuzzy inside :) You guys rock! -Nicky

“Psssst… Hey…” Bart woke up to a gentle whisper and a gentle but persistent poking on his shoulder. 

“Hmmm…” He rubbed his eyes before finally opening them. “Milhouse?”

“Hiya, Bart. Your mom let me in to come wake you up.”

“Why the hell are you here, man?”

“I dunno…. I wanted to see you. And I wanted to talk.”

“I said last night we’d talk after school at the gym or something….” Bart was sitting upright in his bed, still groggy from his sudden waking. “And Lisa’s gonna be in the car too, you know.”

“It’s still super early. I told your mom that we had to get there early for a project. She said she’d drive Lisa to school later.” Milhouse offered a smile and a raised eyebrow to Bart, hoping he didn’t impose too much on whatever Bart had planned. Plus, he felt out of place these days talking to Marge and being in Bart’s room. The blond boy had been taking small steps in the direction of being an open, honest person. Milhouse just hoped he didn’t push too hard or pull too hard sometimes. He was quite emotionally driven, and sometimes impulsive- a dangerous but fitting match to Bart’s own havoc. 

Milhouse’s emotional drive is what helped him open up Bart’s heart that first time just weeks earlier. But it’s also what led to the “pussy” incident. He felt like he was walking on eggshells trying to think before he acted. Nonetheless he  _ did _ show up uninvited in his best friend’s room before he was even awake. Bart would never admit how glad he was to see him first thing in the morning. When he opened his eyes, he thought to himself about how he hoped this wouldn’t be the last time he woke up to see those beady eyes and that sheepish smile. 

“Well… I gotta get dressed and shit, Milhouse.”

…

“So get out!” Bart swung his pillow at Milhouse. The two boys laughed and Milhouse scurried out to wait in the hallway while Bart got ready. 

**********************************************

Bart was driving pretty slow, in no rush to get to a locked school building. 

“I haven’t been out the door this early in a long-ass time.”

“Yeah… me either....”

Finally… the awkwardness hit. Less than a day ago, the two childhood best friends had kissed each other. Not on a dare, or in a funny way that could be brushed off. It was deep, passionate, and manifested the kind of deeper feelings most 17-year-old boys would prefer not talking about.

Most teenage boys, that is. Not Milhouse Van Houten. 

“So... Should we tell people?”

“Tell people what?”

“That we’re kinda dating.”

Bart hit the brakes on his car.

“Who said anything about dating? It was one kiss, man!” He knew it was two kisses. So did Milhouse, who graciously ignored the error. 

“Yeah… but then you said you liked me! And I did too… obviously that’s all leading to something bigger, right?”

Bart started driving again, faster this time. His hand reached to his car radio, eager to listen to something besides his own inner monologue or Milhouse’s nagging. 

“Bart! You’re not putting on music and ignoring me, are you?”

The blond retracted his hand. “Whoops.” He was being sarcastic. 

After a few seconds of silence, a calmer and more serious air hit the two boys. Milhouse broke the silence. 

“I know you’ve had a rough few months and adding all of this, adding me, to all of that is a lot for you emotionally. But I don’t want you to think of me as another burden. I want you to think of me as someone who can help you relieve burdens.”

“Yeah.” Bart was surprised that Milhouse knew what he had feared. He shouldn’t have been, though. Milhouse knew his best friend better than almost anyone did. 

Bart went on. “But it’s hard for me to not think of this whole thing as a burden, though.”

Milhouse wondered what “thing” Bart was referring to. “Do you mean me, or being gay, or just dating in general?”

There’s that goddamn word again. 

“How about… all of the above?” Bart let out a sarcastic laugh. “Well, not the first one. You're…. You’re just fine, Mil. Not a burden.”

Milhouse smiled. “And the other two things I said?”

“Well, relationships create all these new obligations. The reason I like hanging with you is that I’m comfortable. I don’t feel like I have to do anything that I don't want to. And it's always been like that. Changing that whole dynamic, or something, all of a sudden.. it's fuckin' weird. ”

Milhouse nodded along, understanding. “And that other thing I mentioned?”

Bart gulped. He had spent the past 17 years pushing this as far back into himself as he could. Every few months, since age ten, whenever he remembered the G-word, he felt pressure in his head, like his brain had grown hands and was squishing down all the thoughts that would come up. And all along, he knew why. Maybe if he hadn’t pushed it all down so far, each thought could have bubbled back up slowly, and he could have fully processed them, one by one. 

But it was so goddamn scary knowing that people could hate him, for one stupid thing, without even getting to know him. So he took it upon himself to make himself unlikable anyway. So at least they’d have a good reason for hating him. He smoked and drank and skipped school and cursed. This way, when people would scoff at him, he’d understand why. It was all in his control now. 

And it was even scarier knowing that people who did know him, and loved him his whole life, could suddenly stop feeling that way once they learned this one additional fact about him. As if he wasn’t the same person all long and something had forced him to become this way. As if liking boys was the one sin even God couldn’t forgive. 

_ Grandpa… I’m sorry.  _

A single tear came out of each of Bart’s glassy eyes, but it felt as if a thousand tears were welled up and waiting to fall. 

“Bart? Are you crying?”

“I don’t want him to hate me! He’s my favorite person in the entire fucking world and I don’t want him to hate me!” Bart screamed that through his teeth. He kept driving and his hands were gripping the wheel so tight that his fists were turning white.

Milhouse was taken back by the sudden yelling. He was silent as he tried to figure out who Bart’s favorite person was. 

“Who would hate you for that, Bart?”

Bart sniffled, took a deep breath, and tried to remain cool. 

“My Grandpa, Mil. I know he was an asshole and a bigot and that I shouldn’t love him as much as I do. But you know my dad. And I love my mom… but up until recently she’s been spineless.” He continued, “He was so different from all the other adults. Grandpa actually enjoyed my company, as a person, not just 'cos I was related to him. And he stood up to my dad for me. I wasn't man enough to do it. He was... And I could always talk to him… about most things.”

The blue haired boy took a few minutes to process all that. He prayed quickly that his next words weren't spoken in haste. 

"Bart, I’m gonna say something kind of harsh. Promise you won’t be mad."

“Yeah. Sure. Whatever.” Bart was curious. “What is it?”

Milhouse gulped. “Well… Bart… he’s  _ dead _ .... It doesn’t matter what he thinks of you now.”

Bart didn’t react right away, or really at all, and this worried Milhouse, who frantically tried to explain himself.

“It’s only natural, of course, that you respect and love your grandfather and want his approval. And transparent honesty is scary. But it’s just that since he isn’t here to judge you, maybe-” Milhouse stopped because he noticed the car wasn’t moving. 

“We’re here. 20 minutes before the school doors even open.” Bart had parked in the closest spot to the front of Springfield High School. He had never been here early enough to do that. The good spots are always filled up when he rolls around. 

“Bart, I’m sorry. I keep saying all these rude things to you without thinking. My mom was right. This is why I have to start thinking before I talk, huh?”

“You’re right though, man.” Bart smiled, but his eyes looked sad. “I don’t believe in God so I don’t think he’s looking up at me frowning or anything.”

“You mean looking down.”

Bart laughed. “Nah. I love the guy, but there’s a special place in hell for that geezer.” 

“Wow.”

“And Homer’s pretty much off the map, too. I told you about when I ran into Moe, right?”

Milhouse nodded and let Bart keep talking. 

“But I’m still scared he’s gonna show up one day and pretend nothing ever happened and try to squeeze himself back into our lives even though we’ve changed. And I’m scared that Mom hasn't changed enough to stand up for us if he tries doing that.”

“I think she has.”

“Thanks. I do too.” Bart looked up, in thought, then turned to Milhouse. Having been parked for a bit, he finally unbuckled his seatbelt and his friend did the same. “But still… what if? I don’t want to change so drastically only for him to come back and force me back into… well.. You know!” He threw his hands up. 

“Oh. A closet? Ha.” They both laughed at this. Not hard, though. And just for a moment.

“Yep.” 

Bart was surprised when Milhouse grabbed his hand, and held it tightly. 

“I wouldn’t let that happen to you.”

Bart raised an eyebrow. “You’re getting bolder, then. And you know what, I haven’t heard you stutter in a while either, Mil.”

Milhouse stiffened at what he assumed was a compliment. His heart began to beat faster. He felt a bit nervous, but it was more like excited butterflies than the dampening shivers of anxiety. “Bart. I’m bi, I think. And I’m telling my parents tonight, before they break up again.” Bart’s hand was still in his, and they had been making unbroken eye contact for the past few seconds. 

“Good idea.”

“Thanks… I don’t know what you’re going to say or who you’re telling it to. But saying the words out loud to someone might help you accept  _ this _ .” Milhouse looked down at their hands still together. “It might help you accept yourself, too, once you see someone else accepting you. And we could work towards being together, if it’s what you want, too.” 

“I think I do. I said that yesterday.” Bart was solemn, serious. He seemed unlike himself in the moment, but it was only because sincerity was something he wasn’t used to. “I’m not ready to do all the ‘telling everyone’, though.”

“So what are you gonna do, then”

Bart knew the one thing he could do to express his feelings. He wasn’t the best with words, but he was taught that actions spoke louder, anyway. 

“I want to kiss you again.” 

“So do it.” Milhouse  _ was _ getting bolder.

As was Bart, apparently, as the two locked lips and embraced on school property, ignoring the cars that eventually pulled in, caught up in a euphoria that lifted them from their surroundings and all the consequences they could face, even just for a few minutes. 


End file.
